


Unraveling

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Discussion of Abortion, Evil Nick Fury, F/F, Fear of Discovery, Gen, Misunderstandings, Multi, Rape Recovery, Secret Marriage, Telepathic Bond, Unplanned Pregnancy, excessive use of the word 'fuck'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: The lives of committed triad Clint, Natasha, and Phil begin to spiral out of control -- as do the lives of their clanmates Maria Hill and the Scooby Squad.Can An Teaglach Tofa, the Chosen Family, pull together when they need each other most? (Takes place in April 2012)





	1. Chapter 1

Clint awoke to his two favorite smells – his wife Natasha’s clean hair against his nose, and his husband Phil’s French toast in the air. The only way it could get better, he reflected muzzily, was if he could also smell the musky aroma of Phil’s neck at the same time – but then again, that would mean no French toast.

The bed started to shake a little, and Clint was working up to expressing concern when he realized the faint tremors were caused by his wife stifling her laughter. “Great Good Goddess, I love you,” Natasha said aloud – and proceeded to cover his face with loud, smacking kisses more appropriate to their nieces than two adults naked in their marital bed. Clint’s indignant squawk and attempt to get away only made her laugh harder.

Eventually, he managed to slip out from under her and bolted for the bathroom. “Enough, woman! There’s French toast to be had!” That, and they did have work today… later shifts than their usual, but still.

“I can’t help it if watching your mind unfurl like a dandelion in the sun makes me laugh,” Natasha called after him.

He rolled his eyes – out of her sight, but he let her feel it through their telepathic link. “No poetic metaphors before coffee, Sunshine. You know the rules.”

She took the opportunity while he was in the bathroom to pull on lounge pants and a t-shirt – she’d change into her uniform after breakfast. “Yes, well. It was too tempting to pass up.”

Clint brushed past her on his way down the stairs – he’d gone straight for his uniform, though hadn’t done much with his hair. It was still mashed to one side, sticking up in odd formations on the other. “Hopeless romantic,” he teased, then snagged her for a scorching kiss as they crossed into the kitchen.

Phil looked up, laughter lighting his eyes. “She is. So are you.” He pushed a loaded plate of French toast towards each of them and followed that with a steaming mug of coffee for Clint and one of tea for Natasha.

“You are my favorite husband,” Clint said reverently as he picked up the coffee.

“I’d better be,” Phil retorted, coming around the island to kiss Natasha and – once the coffee was half empty and safely back on the counter – kiss Clint as well. “I’ve got to head in. There’s reports to review before the briefing – Goddess, sometimes the bureaucracy is staggering.”

Clint grabbed Phil’s tie – partly because it annoyed his husband but mostly because it was a convenient handle – and pulled him close for a more passionate kiss. Phil let himself savor it, unsurprised to feel Natasha press up against him as well, adding her lips to theirs until he wasn’t entirely certain where one ended and the other began.

He pulled back regretfully, smoothing his tie back into its proper position. “I’d rather not explain to Fury that I’m late to the office because I was being mauled by my wife and husband,” he said lightly. “I’ll see you at the briefing in a few hours, pretty bird… love.” He pressed quick kisses to each of them again before finding the resolve to leave.

The drive to HQ was uneventful – even the traffic seemed less obnoxious than normal. Phil settled at his desk in good humor, opening the top file from the stack in his inbox while humming ‘Lovely Day.’

He hadn’t gotten far into the file when there was a tentative knock on the door. He looked up and smiled. “Agent Bellamy, come in.”

Chuck entered, holding a drink carrier. “I stopped at that place Clint showed me on my way in – grabbed you a latte.” He offered the paper cup to Phil, a half-smile on his face. “I figure you can always use a little more coffee.”

Phil took it with an answering smile. “I never turn down caffeination.” He took a sip and made an approving noise. “No wonder it’s Clint’s favorite. Thank you, Chuck.” The squad second saluted casually as he walked back out the door – probably to deliver coffee to more of his teammates. Phil set the latte on his desk where his teacup usually sat and returned to his report.

He'd finished another two pages where there was a second hesitant knock. “Agent Forrester.” He couldn’t keep his smile from turning into something warmer than professional – it was so rare for CJ to seek him out at work that it positively delighted Phil. “How can I help you this morning?”

CJ closed the door behind him. “Need a minute.” He crossed to Phil’s desk and sat down on the edge, facing his chief. “I’ve got hand-to-hand with Agent Fletcher this morning – Lancelot too – but I just need… bolstering, I guess.” He looked down into his hands. “Fletcher looks a lot like… like Marconi.”

Phil didn’t reach for CJ like he wanted to. An admission like that – that the man he’d be training with resembled the man who’d abused him as a child – wasn’t a time to offer physical contact. At least… Phil had assumed that wasn’t what CJ needed.

He was wrong. CJ slid from the edge of the desk to his knees next to Phil’s chair. “Would you… I need…”

Understanding dawned, and Phil threaded the fingers of one hand into CJ’s hair, low at the nape of his neck, and used his thumb to grasp the back of his neck. After a moment’s hesitation, CJ relaxed into the touch, going so far as to lean his head against Phil’s knee. “Is this what you need, faireoir?” Phil asked quietly.

“Yes.” CJ remained there several moments, breathing deeply. He would never sit this way for anyone else – hell, he couldn’t imagine letting anyone else near him when he was on his knees. But it felt… right… with Phil. With his Chief. With anyone else, this would feel sexual, but Phil’s touch was so far from sexual not to be in the same stratosphere. It was grounding, and guiding, and all the physical manifestation of Phil’s protection and care. 

Phil let him stay there as long as he needed, though he was apprehensive about the unlocked door. He didn’t think anyone in the clan would mistake CJ’s position, but an outsider certainly would. But he would not rush the young man. It was so rare for him to openly ask for what he needed – there was no way he could deny it.

With a deep sigh – but a much more centered one – CJ rose lithely, brushing at his pantlegs. “Thanks, boss,” he said, so quietly that Phil almost didn’t hear him.

“Whatever you need, CJ,” Phil assured him, and risked reaching for the sharpshooter’s hand. CJ let him, and even allowed himself to be tugged down so that Phil could kiss his forehead. “Thank you for letting me care for you.”

CJ smiled – the sweet, youthful expression that made Phil wish he could give the young man the childhood he had deserved. “Let’s call it mutually beneficial, and leave it at that.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the gym that CJ realized Phil had never risen from his chair – never made a motion towards him that his body could misinterpret, and his respect for his handler and chief rose another notch. He was still thinking about that when he bumped into Lance in the locker room.

Lance surveyed the youngest Scooby carefully, though he took pains not to be obvious about it. He looked… relaxed. More so than Lance expected, given CJ’s usual reaction to Agent Fletcher. The tactical analyst narrowed his eyes. There were creases in CJ’s pants like he’d been kneeling, and a smudge on his forehead. Leaning closer on the pretense of reaching into his locker, Lance took a discreet sniff of CJ’s neck and smelled their chief’s cologne.

Knees. Smudge. Cologne. Calm. Those elements swirled together in Lance’s mind, and none of the scenarios he could imagine were good. It looked like he was going to have to have a various serious discussion with Agent Phil Coulson.

~ * ~

It was the tenth morning that Misty woke up drenched in sweat and dizzy that broke Maria.

Misty tried to downplay it – she wasn’t running a fever, after all, and what did it matter if she was a little light-headed? She just had to take her time getting ready, that was all.

But to Maria, it was one more thing happening to her Misty that she couldn’t fix.

“Please, bunny. Please let me take you to medical,” Maria pleaded through the closed bathroom door. “I know you hate them. I hate them too. But this is serious. Jesus, you could barely walk.”

Misty opened the bathroom door, standing in only her bra and panties, and crossed her arms. “You know as well as I do that they’ll just refer me to psych, and I’ll have to tell them about the – attack.”

“You don’t know that.” Maria stepped forward, sliding her hands up and down Misty’s upper arms. “It could be some reaction to whatever chemical they used. It could be a virus or something you picked up – ”

“Ducks,” Misty interrupted, though her tone was gentle. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Maria protested. She closed the distance between them and pressed her forehead against Misty’s, fighting impotent tears. “Goddess, I love you, and seeing you sick is tearing me up. I’m so fucking worried about you, bunny.”

It wasn’t until she realized Misty had frozen in place that her words caught up with her.

“Do you?” Misty’s voice was just above a whisper.

Until the words had come out of her mouth, Maria would have denied it. Sure, she had feelings for Misty – strong feelings. Possessive, protective, powerful feelings – but love? This didn’t look like what she’d seen in the triad, and that was her gauge for a successful relationship.

Except… she couldn’t imagine her life without Misty in it any longer. Not just a part of her life, but a part of her home. Maria wasn’t sure she’d ever really considered a place home, until she’d begun to stay the night at Misty’s… and now, this cramped apartment was more home to her than the house she’d grown up in.

Because of her.

“Yes,” Maria managed to choke out, her hands coming up to cup Misty’s cheeks, smooth her thumbs over her cheekbones. “Goddess. Yes.” She leaned forward – slowly, always so careful not to startle Misty – and pressed their lips together for the first time.

She’d expected fire. What she got was warmth – this wasn’t the intense, blinding flame she’d read about, heard about. This was the steady, constant heat of a hearth – contentment, safety, belonging – home. “I love you,” Maria repeated, this time with conviction. She pressed another kiss to Misty’s lips – open, warm – before moving to kiss away the tears building, to kiss between her eyebrows, across the bridge of her nose – every wondrous inch of that face that she now could admit was beloved to her. 

Misty’s hands came up to cover Maria’s. “How long…?”

“Have I loved you?” Maria finished for her, when tears stole the words. “Probably since you first handed me my ass in the ring. How long have I known that? About five minutes.” She laughed at herself, unable to resist another kiss. 

“I’ve got you beat,” Misty murmured between kisses. “I knew when I woke up in Manitowoc.”

Maria paused, her lips hovering over Misty’s. “What?” She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to let go – or back away. Actually, considering the hold Misty had on her, backing away wasn’t really an option.

“When I woke up next to you in the Yellow Room,” Misty explained, her eyes locked with Maria’s. “Drugged out of my mind, terrified, wounded – I ran straight to you, ducks.” Her lips quirked in a smile. “I could have gone to a lot of people, but I needed you. When I woke up… safe, warm, clean – next to you, I knew. Knew I loved you,” she added, when Maria still looked dazed. 

“You didn’t say anything,” Maria said weakly. She rested her forehead on Misty’s again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You won’t date an agent.”

Maria was stunned enough to pull back, search Misty’s face. There was no condemnation there – no anger, just acceptance of the fact. “This isn’t dating, bunny.” She watched as Misty’s expression closed, shutters coming down behind her eyes. “That isn’t what I meant!”

“What did you mean, then?” Misty’s voice was barely audible.

“I don’t date agents because if it didn’t work out, it would fuck up the work, but this isn’t that!” Maria was babbling now, desperate to reach Misty before it was too late. “Damn it, bunny. You’re it for me, that’s not dating. That’s… fuck, is there a non-Gaia kind of achroi ghra?”

Some of the light returned to Misty’s face, and one side of her lips twitched. “Typically people call that marriage, ducks.”

“You proposing, bunny?” Maria asked. She’d meant it to be light, but it came out deep and throaty. Unable to resist herself, she pressed closer to Misty though she kept her hands on Misty’s face.

“Would you say yes?” Misty tilted her head to one side, and Maria was relieved to see the warmth had returned to her eyes.

“Fuck, yeah,” Maria breathed. She kissed Misty again, and though she tried to keep it light she felt the possessiveness creep in. “If you want a wedding and marriage, I’m in. I don’t need it, though,” she added, when doubt flickered in Misty’s eyes. She used her thumb to smooth over Misty’s cheekbone again. “You’re everything I need, bunny.”

Misty leaned into Maria’s hand, easing forward until her body pressed fully against Maria’s – conscious for the first time that she was standing in her underwear, and Maria was in her uniform. “I don’t need a wedding either.” She slid her arms around Maria’s waist, pushed against her hand until she could lay her head on Maria’s shoulder.

Maria let her arms curve around Misty’s torso, cradling the younger woman against her. “So precious,” she murmured, unaware she’d spoken. “Don’t think this gets you out of going to Medical.”

Chuckling, Misty pressed a soft kiss to Maria’s neck. “Here I thought I’d distracted you with my charms.”

“Your charms are plenty distracting,” Maria agreed. “But it doesn’t make the worry go away, bunny.”

Misty tilted her head up, catching Maria’s eyes. “This is really bugging you, isn’t it?”

Her arms tightened protectively around Misty, and she had to force herself to relax them. “I can’t protect you until I know what’s wrong,” she admitted finally. “And damn it, Misty – I want to protect you. I know you don’t need it – you’ve kicked my ass often enough for me to know that – but I want to.” She sighed and pressed another kiss to Misty’s lips. “I know it’s stupid and unnecessary and – ”

“Can we call Catriona instead?” Misty sounded hesitant to suggest it – Catriona had been a sore point between them in the past – but she’d rather speak to the druid about her medical status than any of the SHIELD personnel in Medical.

Relief made her dizzy. “Yeah. Of course.” She didn’t think it was smart to admit she’d never expected to get Misty into SHIELD Medical – she’d been aiming for Raj or Catriona all along. 

She may be new at the relationship game, but she wasn’t stupid.

“Now?” Maria pressed. “Please?”

Misty leaned back in Maria’s arms, seeking eye contact. She cupped her hand around Maria’s cheek. “Alright. Only for you.” It might have sounded cheesy, but there was no humor in her tone. Still in her bra and underwear, she plucked Maria’s cell phone out of her uniform pocket and dialed the druid’s number. “Hey, Catriona. It’s Misty. I need a favor.”

“Laoch beag?” The druid sounded confused. “Is this not laoch scail’s number? Is Maria alright?”

“She’s fine, and yeah, it’s her phone. It was closer.” Misty leaned back into Maria’s shoulder, pressing one ear into her ducks and the other to the phone.

Maria smoothed Misty’s hair down, tucking her bunny against her automatically. “The favor is more for me, Catriona – I’m worried about Misty. She’s having some weird symptoms, medical symptoms, and… I’m worried.” She cleared her throat, feeling awkward. “And neither of us want her to go to SHIELD medical, because if it’s related to… those reports you got in February…”

“Ah.” Catriona made a soft, sad sound. “I see. Allow me a quarter hour, and I can be at your door – Misty’s door, yes? That is where you reside?”

“Yes, we’re in my apartment,” Misty agreed. “You have the address?”

“I do,” Catriona agreed. “Be at ease, laoch beag, laoch scail. I shall bring my medicines – and were ought ill that my herbs cannot heal, I have my Gift. I shall see you soon.”

The call disconnected and Misty slid the phone back into Maria’s pocket – letting her hand linger, just a little. Maria raised an eyebrow. “Really, bunny?”

“Well, we’ve got fifteen minutes, and…” Misty grinned.

“And you should use them to get dressed,” Maria advised with a laugh. “Kin or not, I’d still prefer you be wearing more when she comes in.”

Misty chuckled and released Maria. “As you wish, ducks.” She grabbed a t-shirt – one of Maria’s Marine Corp shirts, as usual – and a pair of grey sweat pants. “If this takes very long, you’re going to be late for work.”

“I don’t care.” Maria folded her arms over her chest, watching Misty – and delighting in the fact that she didn’t have to hide that she was watching.

Misty frowned at her over her shoulder as she stepped back into the bathroom to grab a hairbrush. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“If this takes long enough for me to be late for work, it’s more important that work,” Maria reasoned. “You’re more important than SHIELD.”

Rather than argue further, Misty offered Maria her hand and together they sat on the couch in her modest living room. She expected it to feel different, curling up with Maria now – they’d exchanged those most significant three words, after all.

It didn’t seem to change much, except that Maria now kissed the blonde hair she pressed her cheek against, and Misty now did the same against the soft, familiar skin of Maria’s neck.

When Catriona’s knock sounded fifteen minutes later, Maria untangled herself and rose to answer it, leaving Misty on the couch. “Come in,” Maria said, gesturing as she opened the door. “Thanks for coming.”

Catriona smiled, offering both her hands to Maria. The senior agent gripped them as she’d seen others do, and Catriona bowed slightly over them before crossing to Misty and kneeling before her, offering her hands as well. “What seems to be the trouble, laoch beag?”

Misty put her hands in Catriona’s and started to explain her symptoms – dizziness and night sweats being the most apparent. At Catriona’s gentle questioning, she added the scent and taste aversions, her increased sensitivity to emotion, and an exhaustion that she hadn’t admitted to Maria.

“I’m sure it’s all tied to what happened in February,” Misty was saying, looking over Catriona’s shoulder to make eye contact with Maria. “Stress or PTSD or… whatever, but nothing you can heal.”

Catriona’s gaze had gone distant as Misty spoke, her fingers tightening around Misty’s long after the blonde would normally have pulled her hands away. The druid’s expression had gotten more intent, more intense – and when her green eyes snapped back to Misty’s, there was equal parts shock and distress in them. “Deirfiur beag m’chroi,” Catriona whispered. “Ta tu ag iompar clainne.”

“English, please,” Maria requested, stepping around Catriona to sit next to Misty. She’d recognized the first three words – sister, little, heart. A term of affection, she thought. Little sister of her heart, maybe? But it couldn’t be good, to cause the druid to lapse into her native tongue.

Misty pulled her hands away from Catriona and turned into Maria’s embrace. “You’re scaring me,” Misty murmured to the druid, even as she burrowed closer to Maria.

“I…” Catriona attempted to speak, cleared her throat and ran a hand over her eyes. “I apologize, laoch beag. I do not mean to frighten you. I read you, with my healing gift, as we held hands. You are correct in that the circumstance you find yourself in is a result of your unfortunate encounter in February… and correct in that it is not something for which I have a remedy.” And while she would ordinarily have insisted her patient be alone before disclosing information, one look at Misty’s posture told her that more damage would be done by separating her from Maria than to speak in front of another. “I know of no softer way to say this, deirfiur beag m’chroi. You are pregnant.”

Maria’s arm tightened around Misty’s waist. “Are you certain?” Her voice was calm, and the hands she had on Misty were gentle… but there was something beating frantically behind her eyes.

“Aye. It is not a fact which I would speak of lightly.” Catriona sat back on her heels, looking up at the couple – and, she realized now – they most certainly were a couple. Those threads of potential she had watched so assiduously had bound themselves together – where once was a myriad of gentle interlacings, she now saw a union as complex as the Bayeux Tapestry.

She was thankful. They would need that unity, now.

“Can you tell – am I healthy?” Misty asked, not removing her face from where it was buried against Maria.

“You are,” Catriona confirmed. “Should you choose to continue the pregnancy, you would likely be delivered of a healthy babe.”

Misty’s head whipped around until she could stare at the druid. “I have a choice?”

“Of a certainty.” Catriona rose from the floor and moved to sit on Misty’s other side. “The Goddess is not unsympathetic to those who find themselves unwilling or unable to be mothers, deirfiur beag m’chroi. Should it be your wish that the pregnancy be ended, there are… ways.” And though Catriona agreed with her entire heart that Misty should be able to make that choice… she hoped the young woman would choose another option.

The druid rose, leaning forward to press a kiss to Misty’s forehead. “I will leave you now. I know that you have much to discuss with your mate.” Catriona’s eyes flickered to Maria, who blushed but didn’t look away. “Should you have need of me – my services as a healer or as your clansister – I am but a thought away.”

~ * ~


	2. Chapter 2

Catriona’s robe had barely cleared the doorway when Maria dialed SHIELD and reported herself too sick to work today – which wasn’t much of a stretch, she thought wryly.

Misty was still silent, long after Catriona had left. It took more self-restraint than Maria had known she’d possessed to give Misty time to process – not to voice her own thoughts and concerns, to pressure Misty for answers.

Instead, Maria forced herself to use the time as Misty was… to think. 

It was more than an hour before Misty cleared her throat. “I’m to the point where I need some input,” she admitted quietly. “I’m going to ask you a question – couple of questions – and I want you to answer honestly, ducks. Not what you think I want to hear or need to hear. Okay?”

“Okay.” Maria blew out a breath and waited.

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Maria tightened her grasp around Misty’s waist and had to force herself not to squeeze painfully tight. “Nothing’s going to change that, bunny.”

Misty nuzzled her nose against Maria’s neck. “Not even if I have an abortion? Or give up a baby for adoption?”

“Not even.”

“What if… what if I want to raise my rapist’s baby?”

Maria cupped one hand around the back of Misty’s head, cradling her close. “I wouldn’t consider it your rapist’s baby, bunny. It would be yours. And it wouldn’t make me stop loving you either.”

“Would it be… would it be just mine?” Misty’s voice was so soft that if her lips hadn’t been so close to Maria’s ear, she’d have missed the next question. “Or ours?”

“I intend to be a part of your life for as long as you’ll have me,” Maria answered quietly. “If that includes raising a child together… sign me up for the PTA.”

“Blessed Goddess,” Misty breathed, and relaxed utterly against Maria. “I want that, ducks.” There were tears in her eyes that she didn’t bother to brush away. “I didn’t even know I wanted it, but… I do.”

Maria kissed the nearest skin – Misty’s temple, right at her hairline. “I didn’t know I wanted it, either.” She let her hands run up and down Misty’s body – not to seduce, but to soothe. “We have to tell the triad, bunny. I mean, we have to tell a lot of people but – we should start with the triad.”

Misty shivered. “People will know the truth, then. That I was raped.”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “Bunny, do you really think that the rest of the clan hasn’t figured it out?” Misty was silent, her face still hidden in Maria’s shoulder. “Do you think they’re going to judge you for it?”

“No.” Misty’s voice was very soft – and though she spoke a denial, there was no conviction behind it.

“Oh, bunny.” Maria sighed and pulled until Misty was not just beside her, but in her lap – a move she’d been aching to use, but one she hadn’t felt she had the right to do until today. She wrapped one arm around Misty’s waist and settled the other in Misty’s lap, clasping her hand. “You know the Scoobies all love you. Differently, sure, but it’s there. Having their suspicions confirmed isn’t going to change that.” Hesitantly, she placed her hand on Misty’s still-flat abdomen. “A baby doesn’t mean they stop loving you, bunny.”

“Babies change everything,” Misty whispered, covering Maria’s hand with her own.

“Not that.” Maria’s voice was firm, even as she caressed Misty’s stomach lightly with her thumb. “You’re stuck with us, bunny. Me, for damned sure – but the rest of the clan, too. Even without this wacky druid clanship thing… no way in hell would Phil walk away from you. If you can’t believe me on the rest of them, believe me on that. There is no force on – or off – Earth that could make Phil Coulson walk away from one he’s claimed as his own.”

Somehow, that was an easy notion to wrap her mind around. Misty relaxed into Maria’s hold, leaning until she could nuzzle her head into the familiar shoulder. “When do we tell them?”

“The sooner we tell Phil, the sooner you can call Mama Diane,” Maria answered immediately. She knew – whether it had occurred to Misty or not – that her bunny would need the unwavering maternal support that Diane offered. Her clan was one thing… but Misty was going to need a mom.

“Good point,” Misty said on a sigh. “Tonight? Dinner?”

Maria glanced at her watch. “Yeah. That’ll work. I’ll send a message now – so they don’t make plans.” She squirmed until she could pluck her cell phone out of her pocket, then tapped out a text. _Need all 3 of you @ dojo for dinner. We’ll feed you._ Maria hesitated before she sent the text to the triad – she knew it was going to worry Phil at least, and probably the other two – but this wasn’t a conversation to have via text message or a phone call. She set her cell on the coffee table next to the couch and returned her full attention to Misty in her arms. “So, how would you like to occupy the next few hours?”

Misty bit her lip and averted her eyes. After their emotional confessions but before Catriona had dropped her bombshell, she’d have had a ready answer – kissing the daylights out of each other, and maybe more. But she wasn’t feeling particularly sensual anymore… and even less desirable.

“Hey, none of that,” Maria protested softly, reaching up to turn Misty’s chin in her direction. “What’s going on behind those jade eyes?”

“Jade?” The adjective startled her into eye contact, and Maria’s smile was slow and heated.

“Jade,” she repeated, and used the hand on Misty’s chin to tilt her face down, stretching until she could press a kiss between those green eyes. “The really valuable Burmese stuff,” she added, meeting Misty’s eyes again and holding the gaze.

“You know the damndest things,” Misty whispered. She’d tried to speak normally, but the intensity in Maria’s eyes was robbing her of speech.

Maria chuckled and moved her hand from Misty’s chin to cup her cheek, running her thumb over Misty’s cheekbone. “I learned that one watching Antiques Roadshow with Nat. Don’t tell her I told. It’s her guilty pleasure.” Misty nodded slightly – too caught in Maria’s eyes to respond. “You acted like you had a suggestion for the afternoon,” Maria prompted, her thumb moving to Misty’s lips. “And then you shot it down. Tell me?”

It wasn’t an order – wasn’t a plea. Either one would have shut Misty down further… but the quiet invitation undid her. “Honestly? I was wishing we could just… kiss.” Her shoulders hunched up towards her ears. “It’s stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Maria murmured. Her hand slid along Misty’s jawline to cup the back of her head, drawing her in close. Slowly – giving Misty space and time to pull away – Maria eased their lips together.

It was just as magical as it had been this morning. 

~ * ~

Natasha didn’t need the whisper of Gaia in her mind to tell her that the mission brief in her hand was a problem. 

The first indicator was that Fury had called her into his office alone – and that Phil’s signature wasn’t on the assignment at all. That meant either Fury hadn’t shown it to him – or Phil had seen it, and refused to approve it. Neither were good. 

Secondly, the mission was undercover – long-term – and without backup. In that way, it reminded her of Natalie Rushman and Stark Industries, but this was not a domestic mission… and her position wouldn’t have been as an employee.

And third, Fury was looking at her with one corner of his lips twitching, and an oddly eager blue flicker in his eyes that she didn’t like.

Any of those facts would have given her pause – but what turned her concern into conviction was the voice of her Goddess, ringing through her mind despite her distance from the ground. \\\M’inion, to accept this assignment would place you in danger – and separate you from your achroi ghra and clan for an indefinite amount of time. I will not forbid it, for you have earned the freedom to make your own choices… but I caution you, for I fear the anticipation in your director. It bodes little well for you, my daughter.//

{Yeah, I figured that part out too.} Natasha looked down at the brief in her hand and closed the folder. She placed it on the corner of Fury’s desk and folded her hands behind her back. “Sir, I must respectfully decline this assignment.”

Fury’s eyebrows leapt. “Excuse me?” He leaned forward in his chair, eye intent on hers. “On what grounds?”

Natasha blessed every moment she’d spent listening to her husband – because if it weren’t for Phil’s obsessive dedication to policies, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. “Section 74, sir.” She’d never used that exemption before – never needed to. Few did. That particular section dealt with emotional and psychological trauma – evidence of, potential for, and repercussions of. It was used by agents who knew their traumas would FUBAR a mission – and in one case she knew of, used by an agent to prevent him from causing irrevocable emotional trauma to himself, when the target had been identified as a full-blooded sister.

Even SHIELD wouldn’t force an agent to commit incest.

“You got psych trauma I don’t know about, Romanoff?” he demanded sharply.

“The issues I have which prevent me from accepting this mission are well known to my handler,” Natasha answered. She slid her eyes away from his, down to the closed folder. “Had he been consulted, he would have made you aware of my unsuitability.”

“You work for me, Agent Romanoff,” Fury began, rising from his desk, “not for Agent Coulson.”

“I work for SHIELD,” she retorted. “Not for you.” Natasha took a moment to breathe deeply – to marshal her anger into something more productive. “Those regulations exist to protect SHIELD, sir.” And though it grated at her, she allowed a flicker of her own vulnerability to show in her face… let him see what accepting this mission would do to her.

What she’d experienced at Christmas was nothing compared to the psychological effects of prolonged absence from all contact with her husbands and her clan. Even with the telepathic connections to Clint and to Gaia… she’d be increasingly volatile.

It frightened her – because she wasn’t sure even her bond with the Goddess would save her from reverting to the pure Black Widow that she’d been. And the Black Widow wasn’t what this mission needed. “If I take this mission as it is currently written, it will fail. I will fail.”

“Fear of failure isn’t covered under Section 74,” Fury snapped.

Natasha raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Director Fury, I am refusing this mission as it is written in accordance with my Section 74 rights as a duly sworn Agent of SHIELD. If you will not accept my refusal, you leave me no choice but to resign.”

And when his mouth opened to respond, she turned on her heel and left his office, slamming the door behind her.

~ * ~

Phil was rubbing his forehead, reading the text message from Maria, when Lance walked into his open office, closed the door, and turned the deadbolt. He raised both eyebrows at the Scooby, and they continued to climb as Lance began pacing the length of his office, shooting him looks that Phil couldn’t interpret. “Something I can do for you, Lance?”

Lance’s jaw worked. “You can explain to me what you think you’re doing with CJ.”

“Excuse me?” 

“CJ. I know he came to see you earlier,” Lance bulled forward. “I’ve seen the way you touch him. You, of all people, should know—”

“Wait.” Phil rose from his chair, staring at Lance in shock. “How is it you think I touch him?”

“He worships the ground you walk on, Phil,” Lance snarled. “One word from you, and he glows like a damned Christmas tree. One touch, and he’s a fucking puppy.”

Phil’s eyebrows had crept as high as they would go. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Agent Mackey.”

“Don’t fucking ‘Agent Mackey’ me, Phil. Are you fucking the kid?”

“No!” Phil’s shock made the answer louder and more vehement than he might have preferred. “Great Good Goddess, Lance. How could you think—”

“How am I supposed to know that your triad doesn’t have room for another, huh? What am I supposed to think, chief? The kid flinches when I brush by him in the damned mess hall, but he comes to hand-to-hand smelling like your fucking cologne. That sure doesn’t seem like nothing.” Biting off his words, Lance added, “And what the fuck was he doing on his fucking knees, Phil?”

“Sitting,” Phil said, his mouth dry. “He was just… kneeling. It calms him,” he added when Lance didn’t immediately restart his harangue. “My hand was on the back of his neck. At his request.”

Lance sneered. “Sure, sure. I bet you’ve got a dozen agents who kneel at your feet. Perfectly normal, right. And I’m sure you touch every agent enough for your cologne to rub off on them.”

“CJ isn’t just any agent to me, Lance,” Phil said, trying to regain his calm – and control of the situation.

“No, you’re fucking grooming him,” Lance barked. “He bring out your dominant side? What, Natasha and Clint not submissive enough for you, you just have to go find the subbiest sub you’ve ever seen?”

“That. Is. Enough.” Phil snapped the words out, his voice deep and forceful. “There is not a shred of sexual contact between myself and CJ. There never will be. I will never stray from my wife and husband.”

Lance scoffed. “What about your pet? Does he know you’re off limits?”

“CJ is not my pet,” Phil ground out. “He isn’t my submissive – and if you think that boy will ever submit sexually, then you’ve read him very wrong, Lance. Frankly, it’s a miracle to me that he can accept any touch – especially that of a male authority figure.” He paused, searching Lance’s face for some indication that the agent was aware of CJ’s past. “What I cannot decide is if this display of temper is anger at me, concern for CJ… or jealousy.”

The naked shock on Lance’s face eased at least the last part of Phil’s worry. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. So you think that because I object to you fucking the kid’s ass over your desk, I want to do it myself?”

Phil’s hand had connected with Lance’s cheek before he could stop himself. It was an open-palmed slap, thankfully – the only damage was to Lance’s pride. “Do not ever let me hear you speak of CJ like that again,” Phil stated calmly.

“Yeah? And you wonder why I came to that conclusion?” Lance demanded, his cheeks and eyes hot with the humiliation of being slapped. “You’d better watch yourself, Coulson.”

And with that, the incensed agent left – leaving a confused and demoralized clanchief in his office.

~ * ~

He hadn’t intended to see anything – but once he had, he couldn’t let it go.

Mason Verley was on his way to one of the smaller gyms – an old one, used for solo practice or one-on-one sparring. The equipment was crap and the paint was peeling, but it had a solid mat on the floor, and when he was practicing a new move, there was less chance he’d inadvertently wind up as an example of what not to do for somebody’s trainees.

His mind was only half on his surroundings when he reached the door – but aware enough to note the sound of combat inside. He peered through the slit of the open door and found Agents Barton and Romanoff in the ring, going full-out against each other.

He should have walked away then… but he didn’t know very many straight men (or gay women) who could have walked away from the opportunity to watch Natasha Romanoff sweat through her purple training gear. God, she was mouth-watering.

It took longer than it should have for him to realize that there was something odd about their sparring. It was silent – well, there was the noise of fist against flesh or of a body bouncing off the padded mat, but no speech. That unnerved him, because he’d never seen a sparring match where nobody talked. Maybe this was a nonverbal exercise? Rapport building? Not that they needed it – Barton and Romanoff were so in tune that half the Agents he knew spoke of them in one breath… Barton&Romanoff. They moved like a unit, even when fighting each other. 

Barton managed to pin Romanoff on the floor, and Verley felt his mouth go a little dry. God, what he’d give to be in Barton’s position – kneeling over Romanoff, giving a quick glance around the room before pressing a hard, fast kiss to her willing lips.

Wait – what?

Verley watched, shocked, as Barton ran one hand down Romanoff’s face and neck, continuing down her heaving torso. That was sure as fuck not a sparring partner touch – and though the initial kiss had been all lust and no love, the look Barton was giving Romanoff now was… tender.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He knew Barton had balls, but was he really catting around on Coulson… with Romanoff? That wasn’t balls – that was tantamount to suicide. Verley shuddered at the idea of either Coulson or Romanoff finding out… they’d never find all the pieces of Barton. And, if he had to bet, he’d say they’d never be able to pin the murder on anyone, either.

It bothered Verley all afternoon. He’d learned his lesson about gossip back in February, when Hill had rearranged his face… an event that had led to him seeing a nearly-invisible exchange of tenderness between Coulson and Barton, one that had made him pay closer attention to the pair, and conclude they were truly involved. But he didn’t think it counted as gossip if he went to Barton and confronted him – that was just decency.

He waited until Barton was alone on the range, and had his bow in hand instead of his pistol. Not that Verley thought Barton couldn’t kill him with the bow, but maybe he’d have a better shot at surviving…

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” Verley demanded abruptly, coming up behind Barton.

Clint turned his head and raised an eyebrow. He’d heard Verley come in, but wasn’t aware they had a beef. “Just putting some arrows downrange with Lucille.”

“I didn’t mean with the bow, asshole.” Verley stepped forward and puffed out his chest, lifted his chin. “I meant you fucking around on Agent Coulson with your fucking partner.”

“I… what?” Clint blinked at him. It was purely muscle memory that kept him from dropping Lucille in his shock. “You think I’m – why do you think – ”

Verley’s sneer deepened. “Don’t play innocent with me, Barton. I know your reputation. Flavor of the week doesn’t even begin to cover it. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you – and I sure as shit thought you were looking back.” Barton’s mouth was moving but no words were coming out, so Verley barreled on. “If you’re gonna toss him over for Romanoff, at least have the decency to end it with him. Coulson deserves better than that.”

“You think I’m cheating on my husband with my wife?” Clint blurted.

Verley blinked.

And Clint realized what he’d said – aloud. {Sweet Merciful Mother, I need backup,} Clint managed to squeak telepathically – and he didn’t even realize it was possible to squeak nonverbally. {Sunshine, I fucked up.}

{I’m tied up at the moment, dearling, but I’ll send Phil to you,} Natasha responded immediately. {Take a deep breath. It’ll be okay.}

“Your husband… and your wife.” Verley repeated his words slowly, and Clint saw his eyes flicker to the black band on his left hand. “You’re joking.”

Clint took the deep breath his wife had ordered and blew it out. “Not joking.” He set Lucille down on the bench against the back of the range and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I didn’t mean to say it – we’re not… public. Our marriage isn’t exactly legal, and it sure as hell breaks SHIELD policy.”

“No shit.” Verley leaned back against the wall, his eyes fixed on Barton. “How long?” It couldn’t have been very long, or everyone would have noticed Barton’s ring… 

“Married a year last December… together two years in June,” Clint said quietly. He put his hands on the edge of the bench, leaning forward over his bow. He didn’t want to look at Verley and see disbelief – he knew it was hard to believe. Hell, he still had trouble believing it, and he woke up in bed with Phil and Nat.

Verley’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Barton. How the hell have you kept this quiet?” His mind raced through years of observations.

Clint was forestalled from answering by the range door opening. He knew without looking up that it was Phil, and the line of tension in his shoulders relaxed. He lifted his eyes to his husband’s. “Sorry,” he said, managing at the last moment to bite off the restricted nickname – Phil might allow it around family, but he’d be mortified if Clint called him ‘Moonbeam’ in front of Agent Verley.

“No need to apologize, lovebird,” Phil murmured. His eyes flickered to where surveillance cameras monitored the area. “Bleachtaire arranged for us to have some privacy, so we can speak freely.” He crossed to stand next to Clint, putting a reassuring hand on the archer’s forearm. “We’re not angry.”

Verley shook his head to clear it. “I have so many questions.”

Phil chuckled, which only served to confuse Verley more. “Go ahead and ask.”

“How the hell did you know he told me?” That seemed the most critical – because it was fucking bizarre. Barton had blurted out his bombshell, and then not even five minutes later, Agent Coulson rode to the rescue. The rescue part didn’t surprise him, but how did he know he was needed? “Christ, you really are psychic.” To Verley’s intense bafflement, that comment made both men laugh – and exchange a look that was way past ‘fond’ and into ‘loving.’

“Clint and Natasha have a classified method of communication,” Phil explained – though the amusement in his eyes made Verley wonder just what method that would be. “He called in a mayday, and Natasha sent me. She’d be here,” he added to Clint, “but she had to take Maria’s meetings for the afternoon.”

“I knew that.” Clint sighed and covered Phil’s hand with his own. He wanted to do more – he could really use one of Phil’s all-encompassing hugs right now – but his husband wasn’t comfortable with displaying affection outside of their family.

Watching that small gesture and Barton’s obvious restraint clashed in Verley’s mind with what he’d seen a few hours ago in the gym. “If this is so secret, why were you and Romanoff going at it in the ring?”

Phil raised an eyebrow, and Clint flushed. “Fraternizing on SHIELD property… without me?” he asked, unable to prevent his voice from dropping suggestively.

“Nat need to burn off some mad,” Clint explained. “She had a… disagreement… with Fury.”

Verley snorted. “Not what I heard. Scuttlebutt says she slammed the door in his face when she stormed out of his office. Turned down a honey pot mission – well, damn.” Realization dawned. “She did turn it down, didn’t she? Because of this?”

“I’ve warned you about listening to scuttlebutt,” Phil said mildly.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. It’s mostly right in this case. She Section 74’d out of it, Phil – you’re going to have to go to bat with Fury over it. Honeytrap mission, long-term undercover – no support, no overwatch.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Verley breathed. “That’s not a mission, that’s fucking torture.” Phil shot him a sharp glance. “I mean it – nobody should be asked to do that, not even Romanoff. And I mean that with the utmost respect,” he added hurriedly. “I’m sure she could take down the target barefoot and tied to a chair – but she shouldn’t have to.”

The corners of Phil’s lips twitched. “You’re afraid of my wife.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Clint snorted, tried to stifle it, and wound up bent double with laughter. Phil watched him, amused. It was a better way for Clint to bleed off the tension than putting more hours in at the range – though Phil might have preferred locking the deadbolt on his office and working that tension out of his husband himself. “Goddess, I needed that,” Clint sighed as he straightened up. He leaned back against the bench, crowded as close to Phil as he dared.

Verley’s expression was difficult to read, as Phil watched him – it appeared he was having to adjust his worldview. “I hope you understand that we wish this to remain a secret,” Phil said after a moment, giving in to impulse and reaching for Clint’s hand. His own wedding ring gleamed, and Verley’s eyes fell on it. 

“Don’t know how you expect to keep it a secret, wearing those rings,” Verley said, but shrugged. “Nobody will hear it from me.” He let a half smile form. “I’ve learned my lesson about repeating gossip.” He rubbed a hand over the cheekbone that still ached at times. 

~ * ~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to @featherykitten, who knew Natasha's reaction better than I did.

Phil turned the SUV’s ignition off, but remained in the driver’s seat. Natasha turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “Something wrong, loverling?”

From the seat behind them, Clint snorted. “You got Maria’s text too, Sunshine. Don’t try to tell me you aren’t worried.”

Natasha frowned at him as she reached a hand out to clasp Phil’s shoulder. “Of course I’m worried, dearling. But sitting here in the garage isn’t going to help.”

“I just needed to – I don’t know, gird my loins,” Phil said, sighing. It wasn’t just Maria’s text – it was CJ’s behavior this morning, Lance’s reaction to it, Verley’s discovery of their triad… it was all too much. He pulled his keys from the car and climbed out, feeling the weight of apprehension… and years. 

Clint and Natasha followed him, exchanging glances. {He sounds so… resigned,} Natasha commented silently.

“Stop that,” he chided from the doorway to the house.

“You aren’t even looking at us!” Clint protested. “How the hell did you know—”

“It doesn’t take a Gift – or even much logic – to figure out that you two are discussing me,” Phil retorted. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid it off, folding it neatly over his arm before going in search of Misty and Maria.

They were sitting at the dining room table, an array of Chinese takeout containers on the table in front of them. Misty looked up at his entrance and gave him a small smile. “Nothing fancy. We figured you’d want something edible, over something we made.”

“Besides, if I cooked, you’d think someone died,” Maria said dryly, and waved Phil to a set.

Phil declined with a small shake of his head. “Can we go change? This feels like a conversation better had out of my suit.”

“You’re not wrong, sensei.” Misty forced another smile. Neither she nor Maria had put on more than lounging clothes – SHIELD sweats and USMC t-shirts, with Misty having pulled on a hoodie from the Maritime Museum in Manitowoc as well. It felt stupid… but wearing it made her feel closer to Phil’s family, and she could use the extra comfort.

Maria waited until the triad had gone upstairs to change before she turned to Misty and put her hands on either side of her face, drawing her close for a quick, tender kiss. “It’s going to be okay, bunny.”

“What if it isn’t?”

Sliding her arms around Misty, Maria pulled her close and eased the blonde head into her shoulder. “Then I tell Phil he’s a moron, we high-tail it out of here, and I call Mama Diane for backup.”

A laughter bubbled up out of Misty and she squeezed Maria. “Doing an end run to the higher powers. I like it.”

They separated when Maria heard the stairs creak, but she kept one hand in Misty’s. The triad filed back in – now in casual wear much like what she and Misty were wearing – and grabbed plates.

“So… do you want to do this on an empty stomach, or after you’ve eaten?” Misty asked, plucking at the tablecloth nervously.

“Grasshopper, my stomach’s been in knots since I got Maria’s text,” Phil said gently. “I’m not going to be able to eat until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Misty and Maria exchanged a look, and Maria eased closer to slip an arm around Misty’s waist when she felt the blonde start to tremble.

“If this is about the shift in your relationship, you needn’t worry that I don’t approve,” Phil added, watching them. It had to be recent – the physical closeness wasn’t new, but the look in Maria’s eyes, and the answering openness in Misty’s, that was.

“It isn’t,” Misty said. She looked down at Maria’s hand in hers. “I mean, yes, our relationship has changed but that’s not what this is about.”

“Just tell him, bunny,” Maria urged. For all that there were two other people in the room, they might have been alone – neither Clint nor Natasha had yet to speak, watching the exchange silently. “Just like a bandaid.” Phil smiled slightly – he was prone to using that phrase when getting people to say difficult things.

Misty took a deep breath. Though she spoke to Phil, it was Maria’s eyes she sought out – unable to face the reaction she’d find in her sensei’s face. “I’m pregnant.” Natasha sucked in a breath and reached for Clint’s hand, but didn’t speak. “Maria and I are going to have a baby.”

Well, that answered the most pressing question, Phil thought to himself. “How sure are you?”

“As sure as Catriona can be,” Maria said, her eyes flicking to Phil. He looked as composed as he ever did.

“That’s pretty damned sure,” Clint muttered.

“I know this is… unexpected…” Misty continued, her eyes downcast. “I know it means changes and… I need to know if… if I have your support.” She raised her eyes to Phil’s finally, flashed them to Clint and Natasha. “All three of you. I… I don’t know… I don’t know if I can do it without you guys.”

“You have it,” Phil said instantly – and Maria let her smile bloom. She’d known his answer – felt it in her bones – but to hear him say it reassured her.

Misty started to smile, to speak – but the tears welling up in her eyes robbed her of words. Maria pulled her close, but wasn’t surprised to see Phil rise from his chair and come around the table, sitting in the empty chair to Misty’s right and offering his shoulder. Clint came around as well – not as close, because it was obvious Misty needed Phil – but close enough to make his support obvious.

Maria hoped that Misty was too emotional at the moment to realize that Natasha hadn’t moved from her seat.

The blonde burrowed her head into Phil’s shoulder and let the tears come – fear and frustration and, at the moment, a gratitude for their support so powerful it nearly robbed her of her breath. Maria kept a comforting hand in the small of her back, stroking gently with her thumb – meeting the eyes of first her chief, then Clint… and then seeking out Natasha’s eyes, and raising an eyebrow.

Called on her behavior, Natasha rose and walked around the table, crouching next to the chair Misty was leaning out of. She still didn’t speak, just offered wordless comfort and support to her clanmate – a woman she’d come to regard as family.

Eventually Misty pulled back and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry.”

“That is definitely not something to apologize for,” Phil corrected firmly. She thought it was but didn’t feel like arguing about it. “So, what’s your plan now?”

“Um.” Misty blew out a breath, her bangs fluttering. “Short term? Pig out on Chinese food, soak up some clan cuddles, and go home.”

“I meant with SHIELD.”

Misty looked away. “I’m not ready to tell everyone. Can we… can we just keep it between us for now?”

Phil pinned her with a sharp gaze. “There is a deadline on that kind of secret, grasshopper – and given our line of work, it isn’t safe to keep it long.”

“I know, but…”

“No, Misty,” Phil interrupted. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through. What would it do to your team, if something happened to your baby because they didn’t know to protect you?”

She blanched. They’d blame themselves, she knew – just like she would if the situation was somehow reversed. “Okay. Um. Can I tell just the Scoobies, for now? Just family?”

The triad traded looks before Phil nodded slowly. “Tomorrow,” he insisted. “And you stay out of the field and sparring ring until then. I don’t care what excuse you give – don’t put any of us in the position of striking an expectant mother, please.”

“We can call a tactical day,” Maria suggested, brushing Misty’s hair out of her face. “Sit you all in intel and have you safe behind a desk. I know you hate ‘em, but this is a good time.”

“Yeah.” Misty leaned into Maria’s hand. “You’re not going to try and bench me the whole time, are you?”

Maria snorted. “If I thought it would work, maybe. I’m smart enough to know it won’t. But I really can’t handle not knowing your team has your back, not about this.”

“Okay.” It was quiet, but genuine acquiescence. “Tomorrow. Dinner?”

“I’ll cook,” Phil offered.

If Misty’s answering smile was a little watery, none of them held it against her. “I never turn down Coulson cooking.”

~ * ~

Clint watched both his spouses closely after Misty and Maria left. Phil took a cup of tea and a plate of brownies up to bed with him, citing the stack of reports he’d brought home as the reason. A quick sniff of the tea confirmed it was Catriona’s headache remedy, but Clint chose not to make an issue of it yet. He set about cleaning up the dining room and kitchen while Natasha retreated to the spare room – and the tiny space they’d set aside for her dancing.

It wasn’t much – a short barre, small full-length mirror, and a yoga mat that stayed rolled up most of the time. It was enough for her. It was a space that her husbands would not approach her in unless strictly necessary, just as none of them bothered Clint when he was at his woodworking bench in the garage, or when Phil was tinkering with Lola. They all needed one hobby, one safe place, that was separate from the others.

Natasha queued up the music to the Sleeping Beauty ballet, feeling like Tchaikovsky suited her mood. She warmed up, and then let long-remembered choreography take over her body, leaving her mind free to work.

It was supposed to be her.

That thought hurt – not just because of the envy, but that she was ashamed of the envy. Misty didn’t ask for this, after all. She wasn’t carrying a child created out of love and devotion.

But she was carrying a child, and that child was obviously already loved. The look in Maria’s eyes had ached too – because that look belonged to Phil and Clint. Natasha was supposed to be the one bringing new life. She wanted to give that to her husbands.

And, she thought as she covered her abdomen with one shaking hand and stared at her reflection, she wanted to give that to herself, too. She’d read that some women, particularly those raised without close emotional bonds, wanted children so that they knew one being would love them unconditionally. At one point, Natasha might have considered that… before being Chosen and bonding to Clint and then having Phil join them… she might have longed for a child for that reason.

This was… different. It wasn’t so much that she desired to be loved unconditionally… she wanted to give that love instead. Beyond that – and even in her mind she knew it sounded corny – she thought she could make a difference in the world by bringing up a child in the love she now understood. Sure, they could adopt – but it didn’t fill that same soul-deep desire.

She didn’t just want to bring up a child… she wanted to bring up her child, and Phil’s. Clint had maintained his position that any children born to the triad should be Phil’s, and Natasha understood that… could agree with it, even though she wanted to give this to Clint too. 

All of her wanting and hoping and waiting had been shoved into her face by circumstances the moment Misty blurted out her news. Natasha knew they were doing the right thing by waiting to get pregnant… but right now, it was hard to remember that. Right now… Misty was experiencing something unwillingly that Natasha longed for so much it hurt.

Woodenly, she finished her dancing and returned everything to its proper place. The brief glimpse she had of their bed before she ducked into the shower to sluice off showed Phil still working on his reports, and Clint propped up next to him with a novel open. Once clean, she put on a pair of Phil’s silly plaid flannel pajamas and crawled up the bed to settle between them.

“I’m not okay,” Natasha said finally, her voice breaking. “I want to be. I know I need to be Misty’s matriarch, and to be strong for her, and – and I’m not okay.”

Clint set his book aside and put his arm around Natasha. “You don’t have to be strong for us, Sunshine.”

That was all the permission she needed to shatter, clinging to Clint and crying into his shoulder as he stroked her back. Phil took off the glasses he wouldn’t admit to needing and laid them and his stack of reports on the bedside table, spooning up behind Natasha and kissing the back of her neck softly. None of them were paying attention to how long it took for her sobs to ease, her breathing to steady. 

“It’s supposed to be me,” she whispered finally. “And I can’t stand that I’m jealous over this. She was raped, she didn’t – I shouldn’t be jealous.”

“You aren’t jealous about the method of conception,” Phil pointed out logically. “Just the conception itself.”

“Not helping,” Clint murmured to their husband. “There’s no shame in it, Sunshine. Misty’s getting a chance at something that you want, and that’s gotta sting. It doesn’t mean you love her any less, or that you are somehow approving of her assault… just that she’s got this gift that you’ve wanted really bad, and even though how she got it really sucks… you still want one.” Natasha nodded her head against him, still. “I still want that too,” Clint admitted, running soothing hands up and down Natasha’s back. He felt Phil draw closer, adding his touch. “And someday, it’ll be us. For now though, the grasshopper’s going to need us. I’m not saying you can’t feel sad and jealous and maybe even angry – but I think we need to keep it away from Misty. Let’s keep those things between just we three for now, okay?”

“Do you…” Natasha began. 

Clint waited, but when she didn’t continue he squeezed her. “Can’t answer the question until you finish answering it, Sunshine.”

“Are you… a little jealous too?” Natasha asked softly.

“Little bit,” Clint admitted. It worried him a little that Phil was still silent – but as their husband was at least participating by touch, Clint decided to set that aside for now as well. “Probably not in the same league as the emotion you’re trying to shield me from.” He pinched her gently. “I appreciate you wanting to shield me, but I’d rather be able to help.” 

Slowly, she lowered the tight reins she’d put on their mental connection. {I was trying to spare you.}

{I don’t need you to spare me, Sunshine. I’m your husband, and that includes the tough stuff as well as the really hot sex.} Clint stroked his hand through her hair. “Get some rest,” he said aloud, directing the comment to both Natasha and Phil. “Tomorrow’s going to be a bitch.”

~ * ~


	4. Chapter 4

Friday morning, Phil crept out of the house he shared with his spouses before either of them was stirring. He stopped in his office only long enough to hang up his outerwear and stash his briefcase before picking up a stack of folders and striding purposefully to Director Fury’s office.

Fury wasn’t surprised to see him. “Coulson.” He glanced up from his desk but didn’t rise. “What brings you to my desk before oh-seven-hundred?” 

Phil dropped the first folder in front of Fury – the mission brief that Natasha refused. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. It’s about yesterday’s 74 – the mission you offered my agent without my approval.”

“She didn’t like it, so she ran to her handler?” Fury asked, lifting one eyebrow. “That isn’t like Romanoff.”

“It isn’t, and she didn’t.” And that grated – as a handler and a husband. “I heard about it via scuttlebutt, and pulled the mission brief myself.” He wondered if Natasha would have mentioned it at all if Clint and Verley hadn’t discussed it with him – or if Clint would have. Once he’d read the brief, it was no surprise that she’d refused it. “For fuck’s sake, Nick,” Phil burst out. “There isn’t a damned agent in the whole organization that would have taken this mission. This isn’t even just a suicide run – it’s asking her to voluntarily be tortured to death. What the hell were you thinking?”

Fury stood slowly, his eye fixed oh Phil. “You want to rephrase that, Agent?”

“No, I damned well don’t!” Phil’s chin went up, and he stepped forward until he was standing toe-to-toe with the Director. “Be careless with your own life – that’s fine. I’ll advise against it, but ultimately that’s your call. Endanger agents under my command? I’m not going to step aside.”

“Any agent?” Fury said smoothly. “Or this particular agent?”

“Any agent!” Phil snarled. “We don’t have that many who’d be capable of executing this even with proper support, I’m not going to throw one away.”

The Director of SHIELD crossed black leather clad arms and glared with his single eye. “She’s taken missions like this in the past.”

“She shouldn’t have,” Phil answered, trying to find his usual calm. It was harder to reach today, and he wished he could blame it on a druidic holiday. “And she should never have been asked to.”

“It begs the question,” Fury said silkily, “of exactly what has changed in her that’s she’s no longer willing to take those missions.”

Phil wanted to growl and didn’t. “Perhaps she’s finally learning self-preservation. I realize it’s a rare trait among SHIELD agents, but it’s one I strive to cultivate.”

“Hmm.” Fury didn’t look convinced. He looked Phil up and down before seating himself again. It bothered Phil to be dismissed so easily – Fury clearly didn’t find him a physical threat. “Or she’s hiding something.”

A snort probably wasn’t the most diplomatic answer, but it escaped before Phil could control it. He sank into a chair across the desk from Fury. “When isn’t Romanoff hiding something? She’s a spy, Nick.”

“One who refused a mission from her Director.”

Phil rubbed his forehead. “It’s a bad mission.” He set a second folder on top of the first. “I rewrote it last night – if you give her proper support and backup, she’ll take it. My first choice would be to send Barton and myself with her, but Forrester and Edwards would work.”

Fury spun the revised mission brief towards himself, scanning over the cover page. He didn’t want to send anyone with Romanoff – but in this case, he didn’t see a way to avoid it. He wouldn’t send Barton and Coulson with her, though. He had plans for them. “I’ll take it under consideration.” Biting back an irritated growl, he tapped out a message on his computer and hit send before returning his attention to Phil. “Whatever she’s hiding – whatever cause she has to 74 out of this – I expect a full report on my desk by this time tomorrow. Whether that’s from you, her, medical, or psych I don’t give a damn – but I want an explanation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

~ * ~

Natasha was revising an after-action report when the request came through a junior agent for her to report to Medical. Clint’s mind was distracted and Natasha was trying to keep him from realizing how unstable she was feeling, so she didn’t bother checking in with him – and Phil had been shut in his office since before she and Clint had made it to HQ this morning. Shrugging, she accepted the note from the agent and headed for the medbay.

Her first thought was Misty – but then, if something had gone wrong with the baby, Misty wouldn’t have gone to SHIELD medical. She’d have called Catriona, and it would have been a much different summons. So… not Misty. That was a relief… she thought. Maybe. It was a relief, right?

She was still pondering that when she entered the medical bay. Two steps in, and she knew it was bad news – because Raj was standing there with a pained expression. “Agent Ramanujan?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Agent Romanoff.” Raj squirmed a little. “Can I have a word?” He gestured to one of the exam rooms.

Crap, that was never good. Natasha stepped into the exam room and turned to face Raj, who followed her in and pulled the door shut. “What is it, Doc? You look… grim.”

“I am.” Raj ran a hand through his dark hair. “Look, you’re about to have a full physical. Very full. Stem to stern, soup to nuts. On the Director’s orders. And I’m not supposed to be telling you this, okay? For some reason, he didn’t want you to know it came from him. Officially, it’s because the physical on file is expired. You and I both know that’s bullshit, and it’s probably about yesterday’s 74, but – look, Nat.” He sighed. “I know this is going to piss you off, but – please don’t actually hurt the staff.”

Natasha’s expression hardened. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“You’re not a monster, you’re just extremely pissed off,” Raj said immediately. “And I get that. And an angry Natasha is scary enough, but pissed off Agent Romanoff or worse – righteously angry Black Widow – that scares the shit out of me, and I’m not the only one. If I had my medical license, I’d be doing the exam – but I don’t, so I can’t. Instead, I have to hand you off to a doctor and nurse who are fucking terrified of you.” He reached out – cautiously – and put a hand on her arm. “Doctor Tolbert is good at what he does, and Nurse Emma is the best. Please trust me on this, Nat.”

“Is Nurse Emma the one you’re sweet on?”

Raj smiled a little. “Yeah. But she really is great. She stood up to Clint last month when he banged his head on the course. Didn’t even bat an eye, and you know how he is.”

She did – and she remembered Clint being impressed by the nurse in question. “Alright. I’m guessing the medical staff decided that since we serve the same handler, you’d have a shot at defanging me?”

“I volunteered,” Raj said. “Actually, I begged. Officially I don’t know anything about this and I sure as hell didn’t pass anything on about you being tapped by the director.”

“Alright.” Natasha sighed and leaned in towards Raj to plant a kiss on his very surprised forehead. “Thanks for the intel you didn’t give me.”

He relaxed enough to wrap her in a quick hug before disappearing. She waited a few minutes and walked out of the exam room to report to Doctor Tolbert.

She didn’t like having to strip down to her skin. It wasn’t the nudity that bothered her… but removing both her wedding ring and the triquetra pendant around her neck made her feel vulnerable in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Natasha occupied her mind during the process with thoughts of how she could mark herself permanently – a tattoo, she thought… but of what?

Raj had been right about the thoroughness of the exam – and some of the specifics clued Natasha in to what they might be looking for. There were several vials of blood more than necessary drawn… and hair samples, plucked from the scalp and carefully wound into plastic baggies. But what made her certain of the accusation in the Director’s mind was being asked to spread her toes apart… so that they could check for needle marks.

Whether it was recreational or performance enhancing drugs they were looking for, someone thought she was injecting herself. And that ratcheted Natasha’s anger from a low simmer to raging ferocity.

~ * ~

It was nine thirty-five on a Friday morning when Clint’s mild concern over his husband’s state of mind ticked over into outright worry.

Almost any SHIELD agent, if asked, would deny that they were creatures of habit. They were highly trained federal agents – habits were a crutch. Predictability led to ruts, which lead to sloppy operations. But structure was important to all humans, really… and thus, there were some things about life at SHIELD HQ that were blessedly predictable.

Every Friday at exactly nine o’clock in the morning, the staff put out the weekly batch of donuts. By nine-thirty, they would all be gone. And almost without fail, two of those powdered donuts would be purchased by his husband. Phil didn’t eat other people’s baking as a rule – not since the prepackaged dough alien cookie incident – but he made a few exceptions… and had a serious substance abuse problem with powdered sugar donuts. Eighty four percent of Fridays, Phil would stroll into the cafeteria and buy his own donuts. Ten percent of the time he would be unable to make the trip himself but send someone for them. Five percent of the time he was out in the field or otherwise unavailable and did not purchase them.

It was that last one percent that had Clint concerned – because it was rarely, if ever, a good sign for Phil to deviate from his routine.

It was nine thirty-five, and Phil hadn’t come for his donuts or texted to request them.

Clint was worried.

Clint may not have a psychic conduit into his husband’s mind, but he knew damned well that something was amiss with Phil Coulson. Long before they’d been spouses, before they were lovers, Clint had made a hobby of observing his handler – and that knowledge served him now.

He gathered up the tray he’d assembled – two precious donuts he’d bought seconds before Agent Harding could, two cups of coffee, and a scone for himself – and carried it to his handler’s office. That wasn’t unusual, after all – he’d done it before, on some of those ten percent days. He’d just normally have been asked to do it by his husband, jonesing for a donut fix and unable to pull free.

Clint wasn’t certain what to expect when he stepped through the office door – he hadn’t knocked, hadn’t given Phil a chance to send him away. As he closed and locked the door behind him, he took a good long look at his husband.

Immaculate designer suit? Check. Whimsical but tasteful tie? Check. Highly polished Italian leather shoes? Check. Serenely competent expression… critical miss. His medbay wrinkle was back and along with it, some suspiciously puffy eyes.

“Moonbeam,” Clint said softly as he set the tray down on Phil’s desk. “Have you been… crying?” That seemed about as likely as walking in on Director Fury doing the polka with Agent Sitwell, but…

Phil looked up from the array of photos and reports on his desk and shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Forbidden word,” Clint pointed out, sitting on the edge of the desk, facing Phil. “Want to tell me why you skipped donut day?”

“I… forgot?” Phil said vaguely, shifting papers around. “What time is it?”

Clint’s eyebrows went up. “It’s quarter to ten on Friday, April 6th.”

“I remembered the day, thank you.” Mostly. Okay… maybe he’d thought it was Thursday, but surely that could be forgiven?

“Okay…” Clint dragged the word out in obvious disbelief. “You want to tell me what’s got your eyes puffy, your medbay wrinkle wrinkled, and you so discombobulated that you forgot about your donuts?”

“No.” Shocked, Clint reached for Phil’s chin to force him to make eye contact, but his husband dodged the touch while locking his computer and tugging some reports away. “I’m busy, Clint.”

Concern and worry rapidly became irritation. “Yeah, I see that. Busy above my paygrade, apparently.” Clint stood up, still facing Phil – who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I kind of thought we were past this, Phil.”

That did bring Phil’s gaze to Clint’s – it was rare for Clint to use his name. “What do you mean?”

“You’re upset. It’s personal, or you wouldn’t have forgotten your donuts. But apparently you won’t share it with your husband, so.” Clint pushed the cafeteria tray towards Phil. “Eat your donuts. Come find me when you can be Moonbeam instead of Agent Coulson.” With that, Clint left the office – shutting the door quietly behind him, instead of slamming it.

Phil wished he’d slammed it. He didn’t deserve the kindness.

He also wished Clint had taken his own brunch… because the second cup of coffee and scone sitting on the tray were a mute reminder that his husband had been taking care of him, and Phil had rejected his care. 

But he couldn’t write a report about Natasha’s Section 74 election with his mind on his spouses. Romanoff’s 74, he corrected himself. It had to be about Agent Romanoff – not about his Natasha.

He hadn’t gotten much farther on it when the door opened again – and it was the woman herself. She didn’t slam the door either, but the flashing of her eyes was just as demonstrative. “You want to explain why I just spent the last hour in Medical?” she demanded sharply.

Phil blinked. “I… have no idea.” He shook his head to clear it, caught sight of the cafeteria tray and had to control a wince.

Natasha’s lip curled. “So you’re telling me that the Director personally ordered me to have a physical that checked for track marks, and you knew nothing about it?”

“Track marks?” Phil repeated dumbly. “I – what – he didn’t say – how could he – he wants an explanation for the 74 but he didn’t – ”

“Didn’t say?” she echoed, in a dangerously sweet tone. “When was that?”

“This morning?”

“You mean, when you snuck out of bed and out of the house like a criminal?”

Phil’s brow wrinkled – including his medbay wrinkle. “I didn’t want to wake you.” At her incredulous look, he shrugged one shoulder. “I wanted to handle this myself.”

“Right.” Natasha’s tone was dry and bitter. “It’s just my career, why would I want to be involved?”

“If you wanted to be involved, you should have come to me as soon as it happened!” Phil shouted. “I should have heard it from you! Instead, I didn’t know a damned thing about it until Clint told me that he accidentally outed us to Verley because you were so pissed off you needed to fraternize on SHIELD property to get out of your head – which you also chose to do without me!”

Natasha stepped back from his desk, noting as she did so the untouched cafeteria tray – the untouched donuts. “This is about more than a mission brief, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. Phil didn’t answer her. “Fine.” She turned away so that he wouldn’t see her eyes sparkling with tears.

Neither of them spoke as she left the office, closing him in with his paperwork.

~ * ~


	5. Chapter 5

Clint waited semi-patiently for the call to connect, cycling through a series of surveillance photos for the Intel department. When his sister-in-law finally picked up, she sounded harried – but then, when didn’t she?

“Clint? Everything okay?”

“Mostly. Sort of. I had a kind of argument with Phil and wanted another perspective,” Clint said, shifting the phone to his other ear and peering closer at a photo. “I guess it wasn’t so much an argument as him not being okay, and me not knowing what to do about it.”

Laura snorted. “What makes you think I’ll be any help?”

“Well, you’re happily married. Been married longer than me. Thought maybe you’d be able to give me advice on dealing with a husband?” Clint shrugged even though she couldn’t see him. “I don’t really know that many married people, sis. The other ones are pretty much all related to Phil, and that seemed like a bad idea. So… tag. You’re it.”

“Married isn’t necessarily the same as happily married, Clint.” Her reply was so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

He did – starting with the accidental outing to Verley, backtracked to explain Natasha’s Section 74 that had inadvertently caused said outing, the bombshell Misty had dropped on them, and Phil skipping donut day. “And I have no idea what to do for him, Lo – he doesn’t block me out like this usually. Be strong for others, sure, but… he usually lets me in.”

“I think…” Laura began, and covered the mouthpiece momentarily to talk to someone – Cooper, he guessed. Clint heard the muffled sound, and a thud. No cries erupted, so he decided it must have been nothing. “Give me a minute,” her voice said, and there was more noise before she returned to the call, her voice quieter now. “I think two things. I think Natasha hurt him by not going to him right away – he didn’t know about the section whatever thing when you talked to the other agent, did he? And I think he doesn’t want to hurt her by being less than strong when she needs him, and he knows she’ll feel it through you if he falls apart. So he thinks he has to be strong for both of you in order to be strong for her.”

Clint hummed. “You could be right.” He rolled it over in his head. “Yeah, that sounds like Phil. Both parts.”

“The Phil I met doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that knows how to handle it when you guys don’t go to him about stuff,” Laura added. “So I’m betting that’s the biggest chunk. Figure out why Nat didn’t… and why you didn’t… and you should know how to fix it.”

“You give advice like the Goddess,” Clint sighed. “It sounds really easy – but simple and easy aren’t the same thing.”

“So… why didn’t you tell Phil?” Laura prompted after a moment.

Clint sighed again. “About the 74? I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

Laura hummed. “Have you ever used it? The… whatever section. Refused a mission?”

“Yeah, of course,” Clint said, running a hand through his hair. “Couple times. I refused a mission to be with you when Lila was born. I refused freelance jobs too, before I joined SHIELD, if I got a bad vibe. Mostly I ask for modifications rather than outright refuse but I’ve done both.”

“Has Nat?”

“Umm… I don’t think so.” Clint bit his lip. “She even took that one I refused when Lila was born, and it was a clusterfuck to run solo. Hell. This isn’t as simple to her as it is to me, is it?”

“I don’t think so, sweetie.” Laura covered the mouthpiece again and after some rustling added, “I’ve got to go. Let me know how it all shakes out, okay? You guys will be fine, you just need to talk to each other.”

Clint bit back another sigh. “Yeah, okay. Love you.”

There was a pause and he wondered for a minute if he’d managed to piss her off somehow, but she did finally answer. “I love you too.”

After they hung up, and while he was stressing about his spouses and the Scoobies and missions and babies… that pause continued to bother him.

~ * ~

Natasha had left Phil’s office so angry she could spit – but the anger didn’t last as long as she’d hoped. She tried to cling to it – because angry was much, much better than the sick, worried despair that leached in behind it.

She’d disappointed him, and hurt him, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

Her mind was spinning around that fact even as she mechanically filled out and filed paperwork – work she’d normally have taken into Phil’s office and done from his couch, just to be near him. She couldn’t do that right now. Aside from his pain… she was hurting too. He’d never shouted at her like that before, and it was an ache added to a bevy of emotions she already didn’t know how to deal with. Those emotions crowded her until she felt choked – constrained – and had to make up an errand to justify abandoning the headquarters building and striding out to the outdoor obstacle course, taking deep breaths of the April air and wondering if anyone would notice if she took her shoes off.

Natasha decided she didn’t care if they did. Let them think it was another quirk of the Black Widow.

Shoes in hand, Natasha wormed her way underneath the bows of a pine tree and reached for the Goddess. {Mother?}

\\\I am here, M’inion.// There was a pause, accompanied by a mental sensation that Natasha associated with hair stroking. \\\I wondered if you would bring your burdens to me. How can I aid you, my daughter?//

{I need some intel. Advice.} Natasha folded her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around herself. {I made a stupid choice, and I hurt my husband. After I refused that mission – the one you warned me about – I didn’t go straight to Phil about it, and I should have. I was… I was scared.}

\\\Of treorai?//

{No.} That much Natasha was sure of. She might have hang-ups about refusing a mission, but she didn’t think Phil would ever hurt her for it. {Of disappointing him. I thought… I just needed some time to work through it in my head, but I didn’t get time. I sparred with Clint to clear my head and he kissed me, and someone saw. And I couldn’t help Clint deal with the person who saw, so Phil had to… and that’s how he found out I refused the mission. And that I’d kissed Clint on SHIELD property. It sounds like Phil thought we did more than spar and kiss, and that we… excluded him.}

\\\I see.// Natasha felt the Goddess caress her mind again. \\\And did you exclude him, my daughter?//

{No!} Natasha’s eyes widened. {Not intentionally. He was busy in his office, and he doesn’t like to be interrupted… and I wasn’t… ready to tell him…} she trailed off. {I did exclude him, didn’t I?}

\\\It appears so to me – and doubtless it does to treorai as well.//

That made Natasha’s chin tremble, because that was even worse than disappointing him professionally. It was no wonder he was upset, if he thought she and Clint had not only broken their no-fraternizing-on-SHIELD-property rule but had done it intentionally without him. {It was just a kiss. Just one. Maybe a touch or two, but…}

\\\What it was is less important than what your husband believes it was, m’inion,// Gaia interrupted gently.

And Phil obviously believed it had been more. She sniffled and felt absolutely ridiculous, sitting on dead grass, barefoot, with tears welling up in her eyes. {I don’t know how to fix it, Mother. He’s very angry. And hurt.}

There was an odd rustling noise behind her and Natasha whirled to find a redheaded druid extracting herself from the underbrush. {I am here, Mother,} Catriona told the Goddess as she took Natasha into her arms. “I have you now, deirfiur. It will be alright.” Natasha curled into the embrace, feeling both Mother and sister in touch with her mind as she burst into helpless, hopeless tears. “There now, achara. Let it out.”

\\\I hope you do not mind me sending my druid to you, M’inion – but it appeared you needed a hug, and I have no arms to perform that action myself,// the Goddess said in Natasha’s mind when her tears eased.

“I don’t mind,” Natasha whispered. She should mind – Catriona shouldn’t be on SHIELD property, not with the Director feeling the way he did about her… but she had needed the hug. “So. Now what?”

“Have you eaten, deirfiur?” Catriona asked, stroking Natasha’s hair. “If not, you must eat first, and we will discuss how to straighten out this mess.”

“Not since breakfast,” Natasha admitted. “But I don’t want to go in to the cafeteria.”

Catriona nodded. “Have you a vehicle, and can you leave?”

Natasha eyed her curiously. “I’ve got wheels, and I can make an excuse. Where are we going?”

Half an hour later, they were curled up together in a nook of a bookshop – a new age shop that catered to what Clint used to call the ‘woo-woo tinkly’ crowd. These days, there was a lot less scorn when he looked at a space like this. Natasha ate because Catriona insisted, but she didn’t taste it much.

“Now. How much of this is about Misty, and how much about the mission?” Catriona asked.

“Fifty-fifty,” Natasha said, hunching her shoulders. “Maybe forty-sixty. I was already pretty upset when Misty told us. Then the exam today and Phil…” she trailed off. “I’m jealous of Misty and irritated at myself for being jealous, but…”

Catriona leaned over and tucked a strand of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “But it is refusing the mission and the subsequent events that have you bursting into tears, aye? Tell me, deirfieur m’chroi – what is it about refusing a mission leaves you so bereft?”

Natasha looked away. “What do you think happened to Black Widows who refused missions in the Red Room?”

“Nothing good,” Catriona surmised after a moment. “But surely you knew that, despite being an utter bastard, Director Fury would not treat you the same way as your previous employer?”

“No.” Natasha still didn’t make eye contact. “But it would disappoint him. And my handler.”

“Ah.” Catriona tugged the taller woman into her arms again. “And disappointing Phil is something you do not wish to do on the best of days. You were worried he would react badly to the news, so you chose not to tell him?”

“I would have… eventually,” Natasha admitted. “Probably not at work. I needed to be angry,” she added quietly. “Anger is more productive. If I was angry at Fury for the mission, I wasn’t scared about being punished. But then I had to take Maria’s meetings for the day, and didn’t get a chance to talk to Phil again before Clint spilled the beans to Verley – not that I’m mad at him for it. It was just a mistake.”

“But Phil is angry at him for it?”

“No.” Natasha plucked at the fabric of the booth. “I think Phil’s mad at me. Because I refused the mission and didn’t tell him. And then sparred with Clint and got caught fraternizing.” She wiped at a stray tear. “He yelled at me.”

“Phil?”

She nodded. “In his office. After the medical exam, I went to demand why he hadn’t warned me or stopped it or… something. And because I was hurt that he snuck out of the house this morning without saying good morning. And he yelled at me.”

Catriona wanted to ask ‘Phil?’ again because it was difficult for her to comprehend him yelling at anyone, much less Natasha. She was silent a moment as she debated her response. “I do not think that Phil is as angry as you do,” the druid said slowly. “I think he is probably as confused and hurt as you are – and likely Clint is as well.” When Natasha didn’t respond, Catriona sighed and pressed the taller woman’s head into her neck. It left Natasha contorted oddly, but she didn’t protest. “You need to speak to your husbands, achara. Sooner rather than later.”

Natasha nodded against her, but it was awhile before she spoke. “Are you coming to dinner?”

“Aye. I was included in the text string… I shall be there.” Catriona stroked Natasha’s hair. “Perhaps you would like to stay with me until closer to dinner?” Natasha nodded against her again, and Catriona lapsed into soothing silence to wait.

~ * ~


	6. Chapter 6

It surprised Phil that he was the first one home – but it was also something of a relief. He changed out of his suit into jeans and a t-shirt – grabbing one of Clint’s purple tees for comfort. Returning to the kitchen he added an apron to the ensemble and began preparing dinner. He let the complexities of the meal consume his awareness and soothe the raw edges of his emotions. This was not the time for him to deal with his emotions. Misty needed him to be strong, needed the clan to see that she had his unwavering support. His own feelings could be dealt with later – much later.

He had no idea how long he’d been cooking when he heard the front door open. He looked up expectantly at the kitchen door, and had to fight down sick disappointment when it was neither of his spouses entering, but Maria and Misty instead. He did everything he could to keep that expression off his face – he didn’t want Misty to think the emotion was directed at her.

“Wow, Sensei,” Misty said, looking at the array of dishes in progress. “Pulling out all the stops?”

Phil flickered his eyes across the countertop – he supposed he was going a little overboard. “Cooking relaxes me.”

Maria followed Misty into the kitchen, automatically going to the fridge to snag a cream soda for each of them. “I thought we were supposed to be the ones on edge tonight.”

He almost confessed it, right there – that he’d yelled at Natasha, and rejected Clint’s care, and still aching from Lance’s accusation of impropriety towards CJ. The timer on the stove beeped, and he was able to turn away from them before he added to their considerable burden. With his hands occupied and his eyes averted, he could answer lightly, “You’ve met my mother. You know the answer to all things family is food.”

“And tea,” Misty agreed, sinking onto one of the two barstools and tugging Maria down next to her. “If you add the flower girls to the pool of advice, you also get cuddles recommended.”

That brought a brief smile to Phil’s face. “Yes. Lily in particular is convinced that the world’s ills can be solved by judicious application of cuddles.”

“Suppose I could talk you into some of them?” Misty asked hesitantly.

Immediately Phil set aside spoon and bowl and walked around the breakfast counter to offer his arms to Misty. She burrowed into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder and letting out a deep, contented sigh. Maria scooted her stool closer so that she could rub a soothing hand up and down her bunny’s back, but didn’t interrupt the hug – Misty needed it. Phil felt obscurely guilty that he hadn’t seen the need before she’d mentioned it. Over Misty’s head, he met Maria’s eyes and knew that the senior agent understood he wasn’t alright. The faint question in her gaze was almost a challenge. He shook his head minutely, his eyes flashing down to Misty – he wouldn’t add his problems to hers. Maria nodded once and seemed willing to let it lie. “How are you feeling?” Phil asked Misty when he was certain his voice would remain steady.

“Like I’m already tired of being asked that,” Misty sighed, but there was humor in her voice. “Considering a whopping five people have known I’m pregnant for like thirty-six hours, that should tell you how many times each of you have checked on me.”

“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.” Phil tipped her head towards him to press a kiss to her forehead. “You can ask Dar or Meg – I was like this with both of them, too. Ten pregnancies between the two of them, mind you – and I fussed every time.”

Maria smiled continuing to to rub a hand up and down Misty’s back but using the other to squeeze Phil’s upper arm affectionately. “I can’t say that surprises me.” It was reassuring though, in a strange way – that he was treating Misty just like he had his sisters.

Misty pulled away when another timer went off. Phil shifted back into cooking mode, turning a burner down to a low simmer and stirring something that smelled appetizing – even to Misty’s nose. “Where’s Cuz and Nascha?”

“Not home yet.” Phil was glad he was facing the stove and not Misty – she’d have seen the flicker of pain in his face. The timer had been both an unwanted interruption and a necessary one – he hadn’t wanted to pull away from Misty or Maria when they needed him, but he’d been half a breath away from breaking down himself… again. His lack of control irritated him. “Don’t worry, grasshopper. They’ll be here.”

“Not worried about them,” Misty said, wrapping her arms around herself. Maria scooted closer on her stool and slid her arms beneath Misty’s.

“Your team trusts you with their lives and their careers,” Maria reminded her. “You can trust them with this. We can trust them,” she added, letting her hand drift down to Misty’s abdomen, “with this.”

Clint, coming in the back door as Maria spoke, let out a pleased but surprised noise. “Goddess, you two are adorable.” He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat, surreptitiously observing his husband as he did so. Phil still looked… miserable. And was that one of his shirts? Natasha stole their clothes regularly, but he couldn’t remember Phil ever doing it. Clint added it to the tally of worrying details, but if he wasn’t ready to talk – Clint wouldn’t push the issue. Yet. “Smells good. You need a sous chef, or should I set the table?”

“Table please,” Phil said, not looking away from his stirring. His shoulders had tightened when Clint came in, relaxing some when Clint didn’t immediately resume their earlier… argument? Discussion? He didn’t turn to Clint for their usual welcome home embrace, though – Phil didn’t feel he deserved it, after rejecting Clint’s tending this morning.

“I’ll help,” Maria volunteered. She urged Misty to stay in the kitchen as she and Clint carried plates and silverware into the dining room. “You wanna tell me what’s up with Phil?” Maria asked in a low voice, as soon as she thought they were out of earshot. She could hear Misty gamely trying to carry on a cheerful conversation with Phil, so she figured it was even odds whether she could avoid drawing Phil’s notice.

“No.” Clint’s reply was very soft. “I’ve got it on good authority that we’ll be fine, we just need to talk it out – and I don’t want to involve other people in it, if I don’t have to. But…” he paused as he rounded the table and rested a hand very briefly on hers. “It means a lot to me that you’d offer, Ria. So if it turns out I need backup… nice to know you’re on my six.”

“Always.” Maria offered him a restrained but genuine smile. They finished the task in silence.

Returning to the kitchen, they discovered it had gotten fuller – Raj and Al already had root beers uncapped, and Chuck was rustling in the fridge for an orange soda for CJ. That left Lance, Angie, and Sam outstanding of the Scoobies – and Natasha.

Clint reached out through the mental connection that Natasha had been doing her damndest to keep closed. {You coming home soon? We just crossed the fifty percent mark, and Misty’s already asked after you.}

{Yes.} Her reply was oddly flat, like she was trying to keep all emotion out of it. {Catriona is with me. We will be another ten minutes, I think.}

{Sweet! I didn’t realize the pixie was coming. I could use one of her magic hugs,} Clint answered – pushing affection for both of them through the telepathic bond. {I’m also kind of hoping for a kiss from my wife… because I know she’s upset, and I’m hoping my kisses are at least a fraction as magical as Catriona’s hugs.}

Her control broke and he was treated to a very brief flash of her emotional state – and it was dark. And sad. His heart ached for her and he wanted to press for details, but knew that if she’d been ready to discuss it, she wouldn’t be blocking him so hard. {I am hoping for kisses too.} There was a long pause, filled with more pain that she couldn’t block. {From both my husbands.}

{I can one hundred percent guarantee one from me, and Phil looks like he could use one too.} Clint was beginning to see at least the edge pieces of the puzzle here – he’d missed something between Natasha and Phil, and it was obviously big. {Come home to us, Sunshine, and we’ll see about those kisses.} When he got her wordless acknowledgement and returned his attention to the group in the kitchen, Phil was looking at him with a curious expression. “Nat’s on her way home with Catriona,” he supplied, reaching over to snag a raw carrot from the cutting board. He was relieved that Phil swatted at his hand – it was the first physical contact Phil had initiated with him since creeping out of bed this morning. Even that brief touch was better than nothing. “Any word from the last three Scoobies?”

“Sam and Angie were packing up when I left,” CJ offered. He was leaning up against the counter near the stove, the only one brave enough to encroach on the cook’s territory. “I don’t know about Lancelot.”

Phil’s stirring of the saucepan stilled briefly, but it had been so brief that Clint wouldn’t have been able to testify to it. “I’m sure he’s on his way,” Phil said.

Natasha and Catriona arrived at the same time as Angie and Sam. The gathering was now too large for the kitchen, so they began filtering into the dining room to take their seats. CJ stayed in the kitchen with Phil. “You okay, chief?” the sharpshooter asked softly. “You look…”

“Tonight isn’t about me,” Phil demurred.

CJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay.” Given that Phil’s ‘invitation’ to dinner had been more of an order, he’d assumed the family meeting had something to do with the triad. He’d been hoping for an announcement, actually – that maybe Someday had come, and that Natasha was pregnant. He was having to reconsider that. Phil looked… tense. Unhappy. Clint hadn’t looked relaxed either, CJ realized – and it was weird that Natasha hadn’t come home with one of them. Weirder still, he realized that he hadn’t seen any of the usual touches from the triad – no brushing against each other, playful swats, or tender kisses – just that one automatic swat by Phil when Clint dared to reach into the sacred cooking space. He didn’t like what that implied. “Something I can do?” he reached out and touched Phil’s arm, hoping to provide the same kind of comfort to his chief that he received.

Phil covered CJ’s hand with his own and closed his eyes briefly. Again he felt the desire to just lay everything out – but CJ didn’t deserve his burden any more than Misty and Maria did. He was trying to find words to reassure the young man when he heard Lance come in – and knew it to be Lance by the sharp intake of breath.

CJ withdrew his hand and reached for the fridge. “What’s your poison tonight, Lancelot? Root beer, cream soda, orange…” he listed off the non-alcoholic beverages most likely to pique the other man’s interest. In deference to Misty’s sensitivity to the smell of alcohol, all clan gatherings had gone ‘unleaded’ since her assault in February.

“Cream soda,” Lance said after a weighty pause. “Please.” His narrowed eyes fixed on Phil – more precisely, on the place where CJ’s hand had touched. Phil could almost feel the accusation, and he felt his shoulders hunch further. Goddess, he couldn’t deal with this tonight too, Phil thought desperately.

“You got it.” CJ passed Lance a bottle, catching the edge of the look Lance was aiming at Phil – but not understanding it. Was Lance part of whatever was bothering their Chief? He couldn’t imagine how.

Phil began handing bowls and plates of completed dishes to them. “Here, make yourselves useful.” He nodded towards the dining room. Lance and CJ obligingly carried food to the table, Phil bringing up the rear.

It was the normal chaos for ten or fifteen minutes as dishes were passed around the table and plates were filled. When it subsided, Phil caught Misty’s eye and nodded once. Misty swallowed and reached for Maria’s hand. “Um.” As soon as she spoke, other conversation stilled. “So. I asked Sensei to call the powwow tonight. I. Um.” She closed her eyes, unable to continue.

“Do you want me to tell them, bunny?” Maria asked softly, her thumb rubbing across Misty’s knuckles.

“No. No, I need to do it.” And if attention had been on her before, now she felt the eyes of the rest of the Scoobies like laser sights.

Chuck’s eyes were focused on their joined hands. “Wait, did you really call a team huddle just to tell us the two of you finally got together?”

“No.” Misty’s voice was trembling, as was the hand covered by Maria’s. “I mean, yes we did, but—”

“I got money riding on this, Buff – we need details!” Chuck pressed, a grin spreading across his face.

“Knock it off,” Maria said sharply, her eyes never leaving Misty’s face. “This is serious, Chuck.”

Misty took a deep breath, and the hand not clasped in Maria’s covered her abdomen under the table. She pulled her eyes away from Maria’s to look to Phil for guidance. He gave her an encouraging smile and nod, and she nodded in response, taking one more deep breath before speaking. “I’m pregnant.”

She’d had no idea that silence could be so loud.

~ * ~


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay,” Sam said finally, breaking the stillness. “So… you’re going to need some time off?”

Misty’s eyebrows drew together. “Not right away. I mean, I probably shouldn’t be out in the field, but—”

“I mean, to take care of it,” Sam interrupted.

“I don’t—” Misty began, and then her eyes went wide. “No, Sam.” She shook her head – slowly at first and becoming almost frantic. “No, we’re keeping the baby.” Her hand tightened protectively over her abdomen. Maria slid one arm around her waist, pulling her tight to her and the other covered Misty’s hand with her own in silent but definite support.

CJ’s face broke into a wide, sunny smile. “Hot damn, you mean I’m going to be an uncle? That’s awesome!”

His enthusiasm cut short the panic Misty had felt building, and she smiled gratefully at him. “Yeah, I guess you are. I mean. If you want to be. All of you.” As Misty relaxed, Maria forced herself to ease back, releasing Misty’s waist and instead rubbing the small of her back. She knew it was going to be a struggle not to smother Misty during her pregnancy. Misty looked around the table. “This is… um… I’m hoping it’ll be a family venture, you know?”

“We’ll be with you every step of the way,” Phil assured her, knowing it to be the truth no matter what was going on between he and his spouses.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Sam said flatly, her eyes fixed on Misty. “What about the squad? What about your career? Jesus, are you really going to throw it all away for – for – ” she visibly struggled for words, hands waving wildly, almost spitting with the force of her emotions. “Because you got roofied and knocked up?” Misty recoiled as Sam pointed an accusatory finger in her direction, turning to Maria and hiding her face in the senior agent’s neck. Maria ran a soothing hand down her back and glared at Sam, but the brunette barreled on. “You’re going to choose a bundle of half-rapist fetal cells over us?” The hand she’d pointed at Misty now jerked her thumb to her chest.

“Hey!” CJ shot to his feet, his finger pointing at Sam with a sharpness he usually reserved for the shooting range. She recoiled, startled to be the target of the quiet young man’s sudden ire. “You watch your fucking mouth, Samantha Abigail. That’s my niece or nephew you’re talking about. The moment Misty decided she wanted to keep that baby, it became family – and that means I’ll protect him. Her. Whatever. From anything and anybody.” Instead of rising in volume, his words were becoming quieter, more intense. Sam fought a shiver – that low tone was more menacing that anything she’d ever heard from him before. “I didn’t get any silver lining when I was raped,” he added, his eyes dark. “Nobody else in this room did, either. Except Misty. And if she can… if she can find a silver lining in it—”

Phil rose when CJ’s voice broke, and he moved around the table until he could pull CJ into his arms, shielding the young man’s face from the rest of the family. He didn’t care what Lance thought of the action, though he could feel the glare like an incipient sunburn – he wouldn’t prevent himself from comforting the distraught sharpshooter out of fear of recrimination. He knew he’d made the right call when he felt CJ’s chest shudder a silent sob, and felt dampness against his shoulder. Phil kept the boy’s face hidden against him, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck to anchor him.

Misty saw Lance’s expression and though she didn’t understand it, she damned well wasn’t going to tolerate it. She rose shakily and moved towards CJ and Phil, worming her way under Phil’s arm until she could be both comforter and comfortee. Maria held back – her presence wouldn’t help CJ, she judged, and her bunny was safe with Phil.

Lance shot Phil a look, his eyes then darting to Natasha and Clint. Neither of them looked disturbed at their husband’s physical response to CJ. Or Misty, but then Misty was Maria’s, obviously. Was CJ not a secret from Clint and Natasha then? Or did they just not realize what Phil was doing to the kid?

Catriona spoke over the soft sounds of distress and soothing. “I offered laoch beag the choice when I sensed her pregnancy,” she explained – quite calmly – to Sam. She wanted to react with anger as well, but judged from the closed expression on the other woman’s face that it would do no good. “She and laoch scail made their decision, and I respect their choice. I suggest,” she added with a hint of formality normally kept out of her dealings with the clan, “that you do the same, dainsearach damhsoir. Your taoiseach treorai has declared his position – it behooves you to follow his example.”

“Wait.” Chuck held up a hand. “I’m not gonna argue about keeping the baby but – how’s this going to work, Buff? Because I’ll be completely and bluntly honest – I don’t trust myself not to do something stupidly heroically protective if you’re out in the field and somebody points a weapon at you. I’m not trying to be sexist,” he added when he saw the women at the table bristle. “I’m trying to be honest. I know damned well you can protect yourself and – and your baby – but I don’t know if I can keep myself from a caveman reaction. That’s on me, and I know it, but…”

Clint smiled a little. “Just because you’re the first one to say it, Chuckles, doesn’t mean you’re the first one to think it. I’ve done dumbass things to protect kids I didn’t know… I can only imagine the dizzying heights to which my dumbassedness would climb if it was a baby and a woman I really care about.”

Misty, her face still pressed against Phil, started to chuckle. “Cuz, you make up more words than anybody I know,” she said fondly. She released Phil and moved to where Clint was seated, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing the top of his head. He tilted his head up to smile at her wryly, and she kissed his nose before moving back to her chair by Maria.

Glad his attempt at humor had worked, Clint gave her a crooked grin. “Might be a made-up word, but it’s still the truth.”

CJ pulled away from Phil, trying to wipe his eyes surreptitiously. He knew several of the clan saw it, but no one mentioned it. He was unspeakably grateful for that – and that Phil followed him to his chair, hand still on the back of his neck. “I have to agree with them, Misty,” he said quietly. His eyes flicked to a now-silent Sam. “I’m still new to this whole family thing… to… um.” He blew out a breath. “To loving people. And I can deal when it’s people that I know can kick serious ass but… but a baby’s… helpless.” He looked down into his hands. “Like I was.”

“Hey.” Clint leaned towards CJ until the sharpshooter looked up at him. “I put an arrow through the eye of the man that hurt you, faireoir. And I sure as hell wouldn’t do any less for anybody in this room. And I’m including the cricket in that. Got it?”

“Cricket?” Angie repeated, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Clint held CJ’s eyes a moment longer before relaxing back into his chair and grinning at Angie. “Just ‘cause it’s only a few of us monopolizing the conversation doesn’t mean you’re actually interrupting. What does Phil call Misty?”

“Grasshopper?”

“And what’s like a grasshopper, but smaller?” Clint prompted, grin widening. “A cricket.” There were chuckles and giggles around the table.

“Great Good Goddess, I love you,” Natasha blurted with a little catch in her voice. Her expression said she hadn’t meant to say it out loud – something Clint knew tended to happen when she was tired or overwhelmed, and he judged this to be the latter.

Clint’s smile softened as he turned to her and extended his hand. They’d been sitting next to each other but with more space that usual, and he tugged her into the curve of his arm with gentle firmness. “I love you too, Sunshine.” He kissed her lightly, feeling her settle against his body and letting himself relax just that much more.

Phil’s hand on the back of CJ’s neck tightened, and the sharpshooter turned to look up at his chief, one eyebrow raised. Phil shook his head minutely but couldn’t make his hand relax. CJ decided Phil must need this – must need whatever solace he derived from taking care of his people, of CJ in particular, and opted to ignore the slight pinch. Some of what he was feeling – or thinking – must have shown in his face when he looked back at the table, because he caught another unreadable look from Lance – this one aimed at Phil, and almost… hostile.

“I don’t intend to be in the field,” Misty said. “I’m going to put in paperwork to officially train as Phil’s second-in-command in tactical operations. Until then, I’ll stay in intel or internal rotation. Med-bay guard, maybe. If I have to…” she blew out a breath. “If I have to, I’ll go to Psych and have myself benched for emotional trauma.”

Raj frowned. “Won’t they bench you for the pregnancy anyway?”

“I’m not telling SHIELD yet,” Misty said softly. “I… I can’t. And I don’t have any better reasoning for it than that, I just – I can’t.” Seeing protests on the lips of several of her teammates, she shook her head. “Something’s rotten in Denmark. I’ve seen the reports – we aren’t the only agents being fucked over by Fury and… and he scares me.” She dropped her eyes, automatically covering her abdomen again. “If you’ve ever believed my gut, believe it now – if Director Fury finds out about the baby – the cricket – he’ll use it. And me.”

“I wish that I did not agree with you,” Al said on the end of a long sigh. “I find that I do not trust the Director – not as an Agent should, not as I wanted to when I joined SHIELD. He is not…”

Phil sank into the chair next to CJ – which had been empty, it wasn’t where he’d been eating. His hand remained on the sharpshooter but eased somewhat, and his thumb began to rub idly. CJ leaned into his touch, and Phil paused briefly – realizing that CJ had leaned to make Phil’s reach more natural, not for his own comfort. Was he – was Lance right? Was he using CJ for his own benefit? He almost snatched his hand back, but he didn’t want CJ to think he was rejecting him, either. Torn, he settled for keeping his hand on the back of the young man’s neck but not allowing himself to use his thumb. Resolutely he forced his mind off the accusation and back to the larger topic. “He isn’t the man I knew,” Phil said quietly. “I can’t even be sure when it changed. I used to consider him a friend – used to consider him one of the people who’d have my back. A soldier I’d trust on my six anywhere.” He shook his head, his eyes looking at a faraway memory. “I don’t like agreeing with you either, grasshopper. There are things he’s done in the last few years that… I can’t rationalize. The way he’s treated agents… like they aren’t even people.” Phil’s voice was as distant as his gaze. “Ten, fifteen years ago, I knew he had my back. When I… when I shot Ken, I knew Nick would make it right, would keep me on the side of the angels. Now…”

He was startled out of the memory by the ringing of his cell phone. He plucked it out of his pocket, reading the display and smiling briefly. He accepted the call – heedless of the others in the room – and rose to his feet. “Hi Mom. I didn’t realize it was seven o’clock already.” He covered the microphone briefly. “Excuse me.” He removed his hand and spoke into it again. “I got Lily’s email yesterday, yeah—”

The rest of what Phil was saying to Diane was cut off as he walked upstairs to their bedroom and shut the door behind him.

“Um…” Misty said, looking after Phil in surprise. “Okay, maybe I missed something, but doesn’t he normally just put her on speakerphone when we’re over?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, also looking up the stairs. “Yeah, he normally does.” He tightened his arm around Natasha when she made a small, sad noise. He met her eyes and saw in them the same worry he felt. {We need to have a conversation about our husband,} Clint said to her telepathically, stroking her hair away from her face.

{Maybe when the kids leave,} Natasha answered the same way. He could read her reluctance as easily as her unhappiness. {But right now, they need us.}

Clint raised an eyebrow at her. {If you think I’d choose the kids over you or Phil, you’ve got another think coming. I vote we give him ten minutes, and then stage an invasion. Diane will forgive us, and the kids… the kids will understand.}

“Alright,” Natasha whispered. “Ten minutes.” She glanced at Misty. “If we have to go upstairs and deal with Phil…”

Misty smiled. “Hey, just because I’ve got the biggest elephant in the room doesn’t mean it’s the only one. I don’t know what’s up with Sensei either, but…” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “I heard through the grapevine that there were two uneaten powdered sugar donuts in his office at quitting time. I know damned well that isn’t a good sign.” Her eyes slid to Maria and she smiled slightly. “Lack of proper donut consumption was covered in the Coulson Briefing.”

~ * ~


	8. Chapter 8

“I got Lily’s email yesterday, yeah,” Phil told his mother, closing the bedroom door behind him. “The puppies are getting big. I wish we could adopt one,” he added wistfully. “Daisy’s such a sweetheart, I’m sure her puppies will be too.” The dog that Maria had pulled out of the ice back in February had been eagerly adopted by the twins and had produced five puppies – five adorable puppies that had just hit the three-week mark and were now mobile and playing with each other. Every picture and video the girls sent him made him wistful, but he couldn’t subject a puppy to the life they led. Hell, they wouldn’t even be able to keep houseplants alive if they weren’t frequently visited by a druid.

“Sweetheart…” Diane said carefully. “Did I hear you close the door?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you need to talk to me privately, son?”

Phil sighed. There was no point in denying it – if he hadn’t wanted it subconsciously, he wouldn’t have retreated when he realized who it was. “Yeah, I think I do.”

She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t she continued for him. “Well, which is it? Are you in trouble with Clint, or Natasha?”

“What makes you think I’m in trouble with either of them?”

“Son, I’m your mother – and you are one of my four married children,” she added dryly. “I know very well what a marital dispute sounds like, lovey.”

Phil sat down on the end of the bed and put his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. “It’s complicated,” he sighed, and began to tell her everything. Lance. Natasha’s Section 74. Clint and Natasha fraternizing in the gym. Them getting caught. Confronting Verley. Misty’s pregnancy. Natasha’s reaction to it. Fury ordering Natasha’s medical exam. Him refusing Clint’s donuts. Natasha’s angry words in his office. And the very real truth that he’d managed to hurt both of them and had no idea how to fix it.

Diane listened patiently and did not interrupt. As usual, just detailing the situation to her made him feel lighter. “Son, it’s not nearly as complicated to fix as you think it is,” she said when he’d finished.

“Okay. I’m all ears.” His voice was muffled slightly by the fact that he’d covered his face with the hand not holding the phone.

“Go find them. Apologize to both of them. And then take them to bed, and prove that you still love them.”

“Mom!” Ears and cheeks burning bright, he shot upright in instinctive embarrassment.

She tutted at him. “I have four children, Philip James. Don’t pretend that I don’t know what marital relations are.”

He chuckled ruefully, his back relaxing, his hand coming up to rub his face again. “Yeah, okay. Just… just…”

“You can reassure their minds with your words, lovey – I know you can. Let them see how uncertain and frightened you are, and apologize. But you have to convince their hearts and souls too, and that requires a different kind of communication.”

“I don’t even know where to start, Mom,” he admitted in a soft, almost defeated voice.

“You could try opening the door,” Clint said from the other side of the closed bedroom door. 

Phil sighed. “I didn’t lock it,” he said – not bothering to raise his voice, because obviously Clint could hear him just fine. “Not that locking it would stop you.” The door swung open to reveal both Clint and Natasha. Their wife had her arms wrapped around herself and Clint had an arm around her waist. “Mom, I’ve got to go.”

“Put me on speakerphone, Philip James.” Phil pulled the cell phone away from his ear and did as she ordered. “I want all three of you to listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Mama Diane,” Clint and Natasha answered in chorus. Philip added his own murmured assent.

She sighed, managing to sound both amused and aggrieved. “I love all three of you very much – and I know that you love each other, too. You’ve made a rookie mistake though, trying to protect each other from your feelings. I think all relationships run into that sooner or later, and it isn’t insurmountable. It does require you to be honest with each other, though. Natasha, lovey – you need to explain to your husbands why you’re so scared – and yes, I know you’re scared, because fear is the only thing that makes you act so thoughtlessly. Clint, you need to not let yourself be caught in the middle – because it sounds very much like you’ve been trying to keep the peace without uncovering the root cause. And Phil… my dear Phil,” she added with a small sigh. “You need to be honest with your spouses about what Lance said about CJ – because if I know you, you haven’t said a word about it to either of them, and it’s eating you up inside. Now, I’m hanging up – and you’re going to have a long talk. Give my love to the others… and keep some for yourself.”

And she hung up.

Clint waited a beat to see if Phil was going to speak – but his husband stayed silent, not raising his eyes from his phone as he meticulously locked it and stowed it in its customary pocket. “Alright.” Clint released the arm around Natasha’s waist and reached out to Phil. With one hand he tipped their husband’s chin up until he had to make eye contact with Clint. The other he pressed to Phil’s chest, above his heart. “Moonbeam, what did Lance say about CJ, and why is it eating you up inside?” He felt Natasha step closer, and her slender, trembling hand joined his over Phil’s heart. Her free hand tucked into the waistband of Clint’s pants – not sexual, he judged, but needing the tether.

“Lance thinks…” Phil began, trying to look anywhere but Clint’s eyes but unwilling to pull away physically. “He thinks I’m grooming CJ. Sexually. That he’s… my submissive.” Even just saying the words made shame and anger rise up in his throat, reddening his cheeks and roughening his tone. “That either I’m cheating on you two with CJ, or that he’s… part of this.” Phil twirled a hand weakly in the air, encompassing the three of them.

Clint started to protest and Natasha shook her head. “Let him get it all out, dearling.” Her fingers stroked both Phil’s chest and Clint’s hand. She could see that there was more – Phil hadn’t relaxed at all yet.

Phil closed his eyes briefly to recall the confrontation in his office. “It was yesterday before your meeting with the Director, love.” Natasha made a small noise – it was the first time he’d used a pet name since the 74… and, she realized now, he’d already been dealing with this burden when she’d been summoned to Fury’s office. “CJ had come by before his ring time with Agent Fletcher. He’d needed… you know how much Fletcher looks like Marconi, pretty bird? It’s uncanny. I even ran him, just to be sure… anyway. CJ… kneels, sometimes. It’s isn’t sexual,” Phil said forcefully, meeting Clint’s gaze fully, transferring it to Natasha to be sure she saw his sincerity too. “I suppose it is submissive, but it’s… it’s his way of reminding himself, his body, that he’s safe. I put… I put my hand on the back of his neck, like I did downstairs. It anchors him, calms him.” Phil barked out a humorless laugh. “It does me too. It’s… it feels good, to know he feels that safe with me, you know.”

“I know, Moonbeam,” Clint murmured. “You’ve never hidden that from us.”

“Not intentionally.” Phil closed his eyes again, swallowing hard. “But I think maybe I was hiding it from myself. Anyway. Lance saw CJ in the locker room before their time with Fletcher. Said CJ looked calmer than he should be, had creases on his knees and… and smelled like my cologne. And Lance…”

“Deduced wrong,” Natasha said softly. “And thought CJ was on his knees for a different reason, didn’t he, loverling?”

Phil nodded miserably. “And I… I was so shocked that I… I slapped him.” He raised a shaking hand to his face, cupping it around Clint’s fingers where they still held his chin. “I struck him, pretty bird. One of our – our fledglings.” 

“He kind of deserved it, Moonbeam,” Clint said dryly. “I’m guessing he was ranting, and not much ends a Lancelock rant but a shock to his system. Unfortunately… I’m betting he took that as confirmation of his suspicions.”

“Yeah.” Phil’s voice broke. “And I started thinking… am I really using CJ? I get… I feel something, when he comes to me like that. What if it’s… what if I’m guilty of grooming him, like Lance said?”

Natasha moved forward, sliding her hand down from his heart and around his waist – replacing the hand on his heart with her head. Clint pressed in on the other side of Phil’s chest, feeling his arms come up, almost hesitantly, around them. “I have never once thought your eyes or heart or mind have ever strayed,” Natasha said, her voice quiet but firm. “Phil, I don’t have any doubts about your fidelity – now, or ever. I know that what we have – what we three have – is blessed by the Goddess and even if I ever doubted you – even for a fraction of a second – I trust in my Goddess too much to doubt Her blessing. Alright?” Phil nodded, too choked by emotion to speak. 

“We know that you love CJ – and that it’s different than the others. I feel it too, Moonbeam. I don’t know if it’s his age or his history or what, but… I get it. It feels… more, somehow, to help him. To be trusted by him.” Clint paused, stroking a hand up and down Phil’s back. “Maybe he is a natural submissive, but even if we weren’t so very married—” Phil chuckled wetly at the use of Misty’s favorite term for them “—I can’t imagine it ever being sexual for him. With us, or anybody. He chooses to kneel for you, and to be grounded by your touch, because he never got to choose it before. He gives it to you because he knows he can, Moonbeam, because you’re his handler, and his chief, and the closest thing to a father he’s ever had.” Clint paused again. “Have I ever told you what he gives me?”

Startled, Phil pulled back far enough to make eye contact. “No…?”

“I have a key to his nest,” Clint whispered.

“You mean his apartment?” Phil asked, puzzled as to the import.

“No.” Clint’s fingers sought out Natasha’s, interlocking over Phil’s sternum. “His nest. His bolt hole.” He choked out a laugh, reliving the moment. “He asked me to follow him home one night, to check a sightline or something, but instead of his apartment… he took me to his nest. I won’t tell you where it is, not unless I have no other choice – because… because…” and tears welled up in Clint’s eyes. “The kid only has the resources for one bolt hole, you know – he told me so, in that so-fucking-earnest way of his. But he wanted me to see it. Sure, he asked for some pointers, which I gave him as soon as I could talk without embarrassing us both by crying but – Phil, a sniper’s nest is sacred ground. It’s… it’s the holiest of holies, and he fucking trusts me with that.” Clint didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Someday, Goddess willing, I’ll have a son or daughter to pass my skills on to but – I swear to you both, I couldn’t love CJ more if he was our flesh and blood.” Clint sucked in a ragged breath and skewered Phil with a finger to the chest. “So no guilt for loving him, Philip James. You give him what he needs, and you take what he gives you – because whether you want to call him our fledgling or our kid brother or our son – he’s our fucking family, and we have NOTHING to be ashamed of about that, alright?”

Phil nodded, unable to speak. He settled for tightening his arms around his spouses, unspeakably glad to be holding them again. It hadn’t been that long, really – but it felt like forever.

“In the interest of full disclosure,” Natasha said hesitantly, “there is something precious he shares with me, too.” Her voice had softened as it only did with deep emotion. “Sometimes… some nights when I go to Madame Polina’s… he joins me.”

“CJ dances?” Phil said in surprise. “Since when?”

“Who’s Madame Polina?” Clint interrupted.

Natasha felt Phil’s lips curl in a smile against her hair. “The Russian ballet instructor our wife asked me to find… and forget.”

Clint let out a low whistle. “Doug and Louise made him take dance when he was with them in prerecruitment, didn’t they? I’ve seen hints of it in his hand-to-hand, but I thought it was from working with you, Sunshine.”

“It is… sort of.” Her fingers began to move on Phil’s chest, tracing out a Tchaikovsky ballet. “When he found out I had real training, he asked if he could… partner with me, to dance. We go to Madame Polina’s and… and when we sign in, it’s as Jay and Natalie Colton. Brother and sister.”

“Coulson-Barton?” Phil asked after a moment. “He… you…”

“Please don’t be mad,” Natasha whispered.

Phil choked and she looked up at him, alarmed – to discover his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I’m not mad, love. I’m not any kind of mad. I’m… floored. And humbled. And kind of wishing this wasn’t a secret between you and he, because I’d like to tell him, too, that know he’s willing to borrow our names, even temporarily, is…”

“Fucking awesome,” Clint whispered. He cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes. “So. How do we convince Lance that there’s nothing wrong with how we treat CJ?”

Phil’s arms tightened around them both. “I don’t know.”

“Can we come back to that?” Natasha asked, her voice muffled as she turned her face into Phil’s chest, pressing closer. “Because I need to say something else, too.”

“Alright.” Phil tried to keep his voice calm and even, but he couldn’t hide the tremble from his spouses, given they were tucked against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispered, and her voice broke. “I’m sorry I didn’t come straight to you after I 74’d, and sorry I sparred hard enough with Clint that he thought I needed a kiss, sorry that Verley saw, sorry that you had to deal with it.” She was crying now too, clinging to the purple fabric of Clint’s shirt, stretched over Phil’s chest. “I was scared, and pissed at myself for being scared, and I’ve just… kept being scared and pissed off and making dumb choices because of it.”

Clint covered her clenched hand with his own. “Can you also be sorry for locking us out of it? Because I understand scared and pissed off… it’s not being allowed to help that hurts.” He tilted his head up to Phil. “Isn’t it?”

Phil nodded slowly – both in agreement with what Clint said, and what he was implying. Phil was guilty of the same sin – he hadn’t let his spouses see his turmoil over Lance’s accusation, much less help. “I accept your apology, love. And… and I offer my own. To both of you.” He smiled wryly. “Mom was right. We were all trying so hard to protect each other’s feelings that we bruised them instead.”

“Mama Diane is usually right,” Clint sighed. He rubbed his cheek against Phil’s chest. “I accept too – both of ‘em. And… I’m sorry I didn’t force the issue sooner.”

Natasha snorted, and it turned into a full-fledged chuckle. “You really think that would have worked, dearling? Trying to force me – or Phil – to talk about our feelings?”

Clint chuckled too, relieved beyond measure to hear amusement rumbling in Phil’s chest beneath his ear, too. “Okay, I might have needed backup. Mama mojo, maybe.”

Phil drew away, freeing his arms and hands. He reached first for Natasha, cupping his hands around her face and drawing her in for an achingly tender kiss. He released her and reached for Clint, rubbing his thumb over the archer’s cheek before pressing their lips together too. When they broke apart, Clint pulled Natasha to him, kissing the last remnants of tears from her cheeks before capturing her lips with his, reaffirming their bond with a deep, sweet kiss.

“Are we okay?” Natasha asked, looking up through her eyelashes at her husbands.

“Yeah,” Clint answered, sliding an arm around her waist. “Even if that is a forbidden word.”

Phil wrapped his arms around them both again, resting his cheek against Natasha’s hair. “I wish we could skip straight to the make-up sex,” and even in the privacy of their bedroom, saying it aloud made him blush, “but the kids are still downstairs and I… I don’t think I can really relax until I know they’re… okay.”

“About the cricket?” Clint asked, and Phil nodded. “Okay. I vote we go downstairs and not mention this crap with Lance. If anyone asks, this was all about the 74.”

“I’m alright with admitting to being jealous… of the cricket,” Natasha added softly. “It’s a part of… part of this.”

“It might be a part of my reaction too,” Phil admitted. “I realized when I was talking about Dar and Meg being pregnant, I was jealous then, of them becoming parents. No reason to think that’s changed.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “It’s just been buried under other emotions.”

“Alright.” Clint nodded. “I’ll cop to the same thing – and I knew it, I just… didn’t want to admit it.”

“So we have professional concerns and personal jealousy,” Natasha sighed. “Both of which are true and will keep the kids from asking questions about those looks Lance keeps shooting you, loverling… I hope.”

~ * ~


	9. Chapter 9

“Phil didn’t eat his donuts today?” CJ asked Misty, his eyebrows drawing together. “It’s Friday. It’s donut day.” He said it like it was a constant of the universe – which it kind of was, for Phil.

“Didn’t buy them himself, either,” Angie reported. She had put down her fork and was just picking at her napkin. “Agent Harding told me Clint bought the last two – after having surveilled the cafeteria since they’d been put out.”

Lance snorted. “Distracted by something sweeter,” he said under his breath, and Misty shot him a look. “What?”

“I want to know what your beef is with Sensei,” Misty said, pulling her arms away from Maria to cross them over her chest. “You’re acting like a bear with a thorn in your paw, and I want to know why.” When he started to scoff, her eyes narrowed. “Now, Agent Mackey,” she demanded, this time with the unmistakable ring of command.

Maria held up a hand. “Senior agent override,” she said, using the other hand to touch Misty’s folded arms. “Let it ride bunny – for now. Emotions are high enough, we don’t need to add anything else. Please?”

Misty was going to stand her ground – until that last soft word. She sighed, unfolded her arms, and nodded. “Fine.” She pointed at Lance before rising from her chair. “Tabled for later – definitely not forgotten.” She offered her hand to Maria, who rose to follow her. “I’m going to go curl up in the living room until I get my appetite back.” 

Maria sank into a corner of the couch and tugged Misty onto her lap. Her bunny nestled in just as comfortably as if they’d been alone… but then, Misty hadn’t hesitated to cuddle her around the clan at any point since their return from Wisconsin. The shift from ‘more than friends’ to ‘lovers’ hadn’t changed that.

CJ was the first to follow them, sinking to the floor in front of the couch and reaching up to Misty, seeking comfort. She leaned over to plant a kiss on the top of his head before settling her hand on the back of his neck just as she’d seen Phil do. CJ relaxed into it, leaning his head against the couch and curling his fingers around her other hand. He felt Maria carefully brush against his hand, and he twitched his fingers to indicate that her touch was welcome too.

Catriona was next, curling up on the couch next Misty and Maria, her bare feet pressed against Misty’s leg. No sooner had she made herself comfortable than to find Angie squeezing into the space between Catriona and the arm of the couch. “Are you well, bleachtaire?” Catriona asked with some concern. Angie was rarely so tactile with her. Others, on occasion – not often with the druid.

“I will be,” Angie said, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was nauseous – a frequent reaction to emotional turmoil, for her, and meant it was unlikely she’d be able to keep anything down if she tried to eat. Which, she knew, she’d have to try – Natasha always noticed if she skipped a meal, and she hated the concerned and disapproving look she’d get for it. It would be worse if Natasha realized how often the food came right back up, Angie knew – so she never mentioned it.

Raj joined them, seating himself in the armchair nearest where Misty was curled up with Maria and leaning towards them, his hands folded on his knees. “Misty.” He paused, visibly weighing his words. “I’m concerned that you aren’t – that you won’t get proper care, if you aren’t willing to go to SHIELD medical. I can’t provide that for you, Buffy. I want to – Goddess knows I’m willing – but I don’t have the right training – why are you grinning at me?”

Misty’s smile turned into a chuckle, and she twitched her leg where Catriona’s feet were pressed against it. “The pixie’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

“Aye.” Catriona smiled and patted Misty’s leg fondly before turning her green eyes on Raj. “I appreciate your willingness, cneasai drogallach. And to be certain, I would welcome your observations of her on a day-to-day basis, if anything of concern develops – I will not be able to be with her as often as you. But I have guided many a woman through pregnancy and childbirth – it is both my honor and privilege to do so for deirfiur beag m’chroi.”

“That’s a relief.” Raj sank back into the chair with a deep sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. “You do know there’s a point at which you can’t hide it, right? I mean…”

“I know, Raj,” Misty said softly. She didn’t have a free hand – one was on CJ’s neck, the other holding his hand in her lap – to cover her abdomen… but felt a hand there anyway, and looked down to realize Maria had slid her free hand there. Emotion swamped her, and she met Maria’s eyes and fell into them.

Chuck cleared his throat as he sat down on the floor with his back against the coffee table and his feet propped up on the couch, touching Angie’s. “I know I sounded like an asshole when I asked, but I am really curious when you two became… that.” He waved his hand towards Misty and Maria’s faces, and saw the blush rise in Misty’s face. “I don’t mean details, just… um.” He shrugged one shoulder and scrubbed a hand through his militarily short hair. “It’s cute, and… romantical.”

Maria’s heart squeezed in a way she wasn’t used to feeling for Chuck. She rubbed her thumb over Misty’s belly as she debated how best to answer. “I blurted out my feelings for my bunny about fifteen minutes before the pixie told us about the cricket. Thankfully, she happens to return them.”

“Somebunny loves you,” Misty said solemnly – but her eyes were sparkling with amused affection. 

Lance, Al, and Sam entered the living room together, just in time to hear CJ groan theatrically and press the back of his free hand to his forehead. “Goddess, spare me from the sheer sappiness of it.”

Misty chuckled and squeezed the back of his neck. “We’ll tone it down if it genuinely bothers you, little brother.”

“Nah.” He smiled up at her, rubbing his cheek briefly against her knee. “Might bug me if you went like, above PG-13, but it’s good to see the two of you together. Reminds me that the good stuff is out there, you know?”

Lance had halted just inside the door under the pretense of letting Sam and Al choose seats first, but using the time to observe CJ. Did he think this was normal, then? Had Phil twisted him around enough already that the poor kid thought this was appropriate, that he belonged on the floor at their feet? Christ, first his handler and now his squad leader…

CJ felt the eyes on him, but couldn’t interpret Lance’s expression. Had his admission of being raped changed how Lance saw him? That hadn’t occurred to CJ when he’d blurted it out earlier – he’d just wanted to support and defend Misty. He felt his shoulders tighten under Lance’s scrutiny – and then felt Misty’s hand tighten on his neck. “You’re alright,” Misty murmured to him. “I have you, little brother. Just relax.”

Chuck’s hand twitched in an abortive reach for the sharpshooter. When he caught himself moving – and stopping – he huffed in frustration. “I don’t got Buffy or Chief’s people skills, CJ, so I really don’t know whether what you need is for me to clap a hand to your shoulder or back the fuck off – and I’m hoping you’ll give me a break and just tell me.”

“You’ve never asked before,” CJ pointed out. His face was mostly obscured against the couch and Misty’s knee. “You think I’m damaged goods now, don’t you?”

“No, I fucking well don’t,” Chuck retorted sharply. Or at least, no more so than the rest of them. “Jesus, CJ. Just because you hadn’t said the words didn’t mean I hadn’t figured it out.” He glanced up at Misty, met her eyes – the same thing applied to her. “But I don’t have a damned clue how to be comforting because until the last year or so, it wasn’t a skill I needed. So cut this jarhead some slack, would ya?”

CJ turned his head enough to be able to see Chuck, to read his sincerity through the lens of hard earned experience. “Hands and feet are fine. Head, neck, shoulders… go slow.” He paused, looking away, his throat moving. “Otherwise, probably better not to touch right now.”

Immediately Chuck retracted one leg from where it was propped against Angie on the couch and bent it until the sole of his foot was flat against CJ’s calf. “Okay?”

“I think so.” CJ shifted a little – and it damned near broke Chuck’s heart to realize he was testing to see if the contact restrained him. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Lanced dropped into the other easy chair – Sam had sat on the arm of the couch by Angie, and Al cross-legged on the coffee table – and frowned at the cluster of people, all fussing over CJ. “God, what has he done to you?” Lance murmured, rubbing his hand over his mouth. How much damage could Phil have done?

“You’re out of line, Mackey,” Maria said in a tone that brooked no argument. “CJ, you don’t have to answer him. What happened in your past is your story to tell or not, as you choose. No one else’s.”

“You sound like Rose,” Phil said from the staircase. He came down the last few steps with his eyes on Lance, his spouses flanking him.

Maria smiled tightly. “What can I say, your niece has had a serious impact on me.” She paused, rubbing her thumb over Misty’s abdomen. “Your whole family has.”

“Then you won’t be surprised at my next suggestion,” Phil said lightly. “There is uneaten food on plates in the dining room, and that just won’t do. Let’s warm up what needs it, and get some food in us.”

Misty laughed as she unwound herself from Maria – and CJ and Catriona – to stretch and follow the triad back into the dining room. “Yeah, that was pretty much pure Diane.” She touched each of them briefly as she passed them, relieved to see that the tension between them was nearly gone – all three had more relaxed postures, and Natasha’s eyes weren’t as haunted.

There was a flurry of microwaving and shuffling around in both the dining room and kitchen before silence settled over the group again – this time, broken by the sounds of cutlery and food consumption. This kind of quiet, Phil reflected, was one of his favorites – something else he shared with his mother.

Hunger assuaged, Misty sat back in her chair, sipping at her root beer and watching her family. Sam’s reaction had upset her, and Lance’s behavior concerned her, but ultimately she trusted them… loved them. Maria covered Misty’s free hand with her own, smiling. Misty opened her mouth to say something and was surprised by a yawn instead.

Catriona chuckled, folding her napkin and placing it beside her emptied plate. “That is quite normal, laoch beag – and you have had rather an exciting few days. Methinks you did not sleep well last eve, aye? In anticipation of… this?”

“Spot on, as usual,” Misty admitted, leaning into Maria and resting her head on the senior agent’s shoulder. “And I know we should go home and get some sleep but… I need some more family time.”

Emotion cracked through Lance’s attempt to remain aloof, and he found himself reaching across the table to touch Misty’s hand on her root beer bottle. “My sister Carolyn got real hungry for family time when she was pregnant with the niblings. Bev, she turned into a porcupine but Caro…” he smiled a little. “What do you need? Movie? More dessert?”

Misty released the bottle and turned her fingers until she could grasp Lance’s hand fully. He’d never mentioned his sisters by name, and she only knew his brother Dusty’s name because Chuck had repeated it. Angie was the only Scooby to have met any of the Mackeys – last Christmas, when she went to St. Paul with Lance. Was this hostility she saw in him now related to his blood family? So far it seemed directed mostly at Sensei and CJ but what if it was larger than that? “Honestly? I need cuddles,” Misty admitted. “I need… it sounds so stupid.”

“Forbidden word,” Natasha and Clint chided in unison, prompting some laughter.

It eased the mood enough for Misty to find the strength – and the words – to continue. “I guess what I really need is to convince my body… and my heart… that I’m safe and… and loved… by you all, still. Even though… even though you know about the cricket and… and what really happened in February.”

Chuck rose, startling Misty. “I’m setting up the air mattresses,” he explained, pointing at Al and Raj and adding the field sign for ‘assist.’ “And then we’re all gonna bed down, and I’m gonna beg our matriarch for a few chapters of Harry Potter. And maybe the pixie will make a pot or two of tea… oh! Or some of Chief’s hot chocolate.” Chuck realized they were all staring at him, and he gave a self-conscious grin. “Hey, I’m an idiot and an asshole, but I can learn. This worked in December – I got no reason to think it won’t help Buffy as much as it did Natasha.”

As Chuck, Al, and Raj rearranged furniture in the living room, Angie dragged Sam upstairs to the spare room for the pillows and blankets stashed in the closet there. “I get that you don’t approve,” Angie hissed to Sam, hoping they really were out of earshot – though she’d kind of given up on ever managing to keep secrets around the triad. “But I swear to God, Sam, if you make Misty feel like dirt because she was raped, I’ll – I’ll – ”

Sam cut her off before she could think of a creative threat. “I won’t.” She jerked the blankets out of Angie’s hands and fled back downstairs before the hacker could notice the pinching around her eyes – or the trembling of her hands.

Catriona joined Phil in the kitchen, brewing several pots of tea while Phil followed his mother’s cocoa recipe. In the time they’d lived in this home, more than one teapot had found its way into the triad’s cupboards, and Catriona took advantage of that now to brew a variety. “You are steadier now, treorai,” she remarked after a moment, watching him stir milk in a saucepan.

“Getting there,” he told her, shooting her a brief smile. “Nat talked to you?”

“Aye.” She lifted the lid of one teapot to check the strength of the tea within, deciding it needed a few more minutes to steep. “Only a great love can shake a woman such as she, dear treorai. I hope… I hope that you feel no rancor, that she sought support. She did not come to me directly – the Goddess summoned me, on deirfiur’s behalf.”

Phil set down the wooden spoon and reached for Catriona, tugging her tiny form into the circle of his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m grateful she has you in her life, little one. You and the Goddess both. We needed the outside help on this one,” he added wryly. “Most of the time we muddle along on our own, but…”

Catriona settled willingly against his chest, realizing Misty wasn’t the only one who needed physical reassurance tonight. “Tis a tangled and matted mess, aye. It pleases me to be able to help in whatever way I can.”

He kissed the top of her head again before releasing her and returning to his stirring – it wouldn’t do to scald the milk. “Extra pixie dust in the tea tonight, then,” Phil said, his tone deliberately light. “Because I think we all need a little magic to unwind from this one.”

Clint, Natasha, and CJ entered the kitchen with their arms full of dirty dishes. Behind them, Misty and Maria carried the leftovers. CJ rinsed the dishes before handing them to Natasha to put in the dishwasher – she was the only one who could load it to Phil’s specifications. Clint filled the sink with soapy water and started in on what couldn’t go – or didn’t fit – in the dishwasher. Maria dug out Tupperware containers, passing them to Misty and then helping the squad leader portion out the leftovers and stow them in the refrigerator.

Sam came down the stairs, her arms full of blankets, and ran full-on into Lance. “Whoa!” He steadied her, taking half the burden from her and trying not to notice how tight her eyes were. “The house is too crowded to go around with blinders on, Sam.”

“Sorry.” She brushed past him and dumped the rest of the blankets on one of the air mattresses before joining Al in trying to wrestle a fitted sheet onto it – they never fit right, but it made Catriona pout if they tried to nest on the bare plastic, so they made an effort for her.

Lance frowned. Sam never apologized. And she was never so careless, either. He’d heard her tell a rookie – and damn, it was weird to realize there were rookies looking up to them now – that she had to consider her body a deadly weapon and treat it accordingly. He turned slightly as he heard Angie clomp down the stairs – also with arms full enough to impede her vision, but that wasn’t out of character for their hacker. Lance stepped up and relieved her of some of the pillows, too.

Angie tripped on the bottom step, knocking into him and temporarily pinning him against the stair railing. It put her mouth close to his ear, and he was shocked to hear her speak, so softly he had to strain to hear it. “I don’t know what your problem is, Lance, but if you upset anyone else tonight, I will make you fucking regret it.” Then she extracted herself, apologizing loudly for her clumsiness, and began distributing pillows around the two mattresses.

How could no one else see it? Lance wondered as he helped turn the living room into one giant cuddle nest. It was classic grooming, what Phil was doing to CJ – it was textbook. The kid was dependent on him, emotionally and physically. Almost addicted to his praise, Lance realized with a sick feeling as he carefully piled pillows – two for Misty. One for Chuck. Angie wouldn’t use one, she’d probably put her head on somebody’s thigh. One in the chair for Natasha to put behind her back, and another she’d put on her lap to rest the book on… she didn’t sit with her husbands when she read to them, claimed it distracted her too much. 

Catriona carried in a tray of teacups and behind her, Misty and Maria carried a teapot in each hand. She began distributing cups, directing the pour of various blends. Lance knew without checking that Natasha’s would be the raspberry blend, and what she poured out for Phil was probably Serenitea, with a spoonful of honey… CJ favored the orange pekoe unsweetened – except when he was stressed. Lance found the bowl of sugar cubes and put two next to Dusty’s cup, just in case.

Wait. 

CJ. 

Not Dusty.

Lance froze in place, his neurons using too much energy to spare any for movement. “Oh my God.” Lance’s eyes were wide, panicked. “I am such a – oh my God.”

He been doing it too, fussing over CJ. He was fussing over all of them. And CJ was fussing right back. Not just over Phil, which was all Lance had let himself see earlier – CJ fussed over them all. Lance watched as the sharpshooter put small bowls of snacks next to several places – mints for Misty. Caramel rice cakes for Angie. Shelled pistachios for Chuck.

CJ wasn’t Dusty. And Lance needed to stop looking at the young sharpshooter like the little brother he couldn’t save.

“Fuck, I have fucked up so fucking bad,” Lance breathed, and all around him he felt his family still, waiting for him to continue. He closed his eyes, feeling heat rise in his cheeks – and yeah, tears too. God, he’d screwed this up so bad.

Lance felt a hand on his face and opened his eyes to see the young man in question touching his cheek with one careful finger, brushing away tears. “Lance,” CJ said softly. “I don’t know what paradigm shift just happened in your brain, but I really need you to explain it – because right now, you’re looking at me like I’m going to shatter, and I really need to know why.”

“Yeah.” Lance swallowed hard, tears spilling unheeded down his cheeks. “Yeah, okay.” He fought for breath, his hands fisted as his side to prevent him from just seizing CJ in a hug. “Can I – before I – can I just – ” Lance looked at CJ with wordless desperation.

CJ smiled a little and opened his arms. “Don’t squeeze too hard.”

Lance wrapped both arms around the younger man, hid his face in the blond hair, and broke down sobbing.

~ * ~

It took time for Lance to pull himself back together – more time than CJ could handle. “Lance, I have to tap out,” CJ said, as gently as he could. “I’m not mad, I just need some space, okay? Can you let go for me please?”

Lance managed to release him, surprised to find they’d sunk to their knees on the air mattress. CJ retreated to a corner of the couch, not touching anyone. Lance felt his chest heave again and found Phil’s arms around him. “It’s alright, Lance. You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready,” Phil murmured, rubbing his hand up and down Lance’s back. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

Quietly, the rest of the clan settled into their spots. They weren’t staring at Lance – there were conversations happening. Not ignoring him – just allowing him space and time to come back to himself. Letting him be – but making sure he knew he wasn’t alone. It was more than he deserved, given the asshole he’d been.

When he finally pulled back from his clanchief, he saw only compassion in Phil’s eyes. A handkerchief was produced from somewhere – Catriona’s sleeve, probably, Lance thought wildly – and he dried his eyes as he sank fully into a seated position on the mattress. Phil kept a hand on him, physically anchoring him – and Lance abruptly realized how often he’d seen the chief do that, to all of them. “God, chief,” Lance began, his voice catching. “I am so sorry. I – I am just so sorry.”

“I know,” Phil answered calmly, rubbing Lance’s shoulder. “I’m sorry too. But I’m missing some context – and the others are missing more. Can you tell it from the beginning for us, or should I start with yesterday morning?”

Lance appreciated the ‘can you’ more than he wanted to admit – because it acknowledged how hard this was going to be. “I can do it.” He hoped.

Catriona pressed a cup of tea into his hand and settled on his opposite side. “If it helps, crann taca – tell it only to me. You can hardly say anything that would shock me. In twenty-three centuries, there is little I have not seen or heard.”

He looked down into the cup. “I owe it to everyone not to try and minimize it. I fucked up, bad.” Lance looked up, meeting CJ’s eyes. “I made a mistake. A big one. I… I saw the way you’re being treated, CJ and I… only saw it one way. The way I should have seen someone treat my baby brother. I didn’t see it when we were kids – I didn’t see the warning signs in Dusty, and… and…”

“Oh,” Angie breathed, and understanding washed over her. “Oh, hell, Lance.”

“Someone hurt him?” Catriona prompted gently.

“Yeah.” Lance looked back down at his cup. “Yeah, and none of us saw it until it was too late. I should have seen it,” he insisted. “All the signs were there and I – I didn’t see it.”

“Lance,” CJ said slowly. “The man who hurt me is very, very dead. Clint put an arrow through his eye eight years ago. He literally dropped dead onto me. I can swear to you that you aren’t missing any warning signs here. Marconi is dead and buried. Nobody’s treating me like that anymore.”

Lance kept his eyes down, unable to risk meeting CJ’s gaze – or worse, Phil’s. “That wasn’t who I thought you were at risk from.”

It took a long minute before CJ sucked in a breath to a body gone rigid. “You thought Phil would hurt… Goddess, Lance, how could you?”

“I did worse that just think it, I flat out accused him,” Lance confessed, misery in every syllable. “Yesterday, after our bout with Fletcher. You… you came into the locker room and… I thought you’d… been with Phil.”

“I had been with Chief,” CJ said, confused. “I went up before our ring time. Fletcher freaks me out, I needed… I just needed.”

Phil felt Lance’s shoulders tighten further under his hand, and knew he needed to intervene. “He meant a different kind of ‘with,’ faireoir.”

Horror dawned in CJ’s eyes, along with a visceral sickness. One hand came up to cover his mouth and the other pressed against his chest. “I don’t do that,” CJ whispered. “With anybody.”

“We know that,” Phil soothed. “It’s alright, CJ. No one is judging you for that choice. Lance knows now how wrong he was. Don’t you, Lance?”

“Yeah.” He still couldn’t lift his eyes. “I should have gotten a clue when Chief slapped me.”

Phil shifted his hand to Lance’s cheek, gently cupping the one he’d struck. “I am sorry for that, crann taca an teaglach. It’s not a reaction I’m proud of.”

“You hit him?” Angie whispered.

“I did.” Phil rubbed his thumb over Lance’s cheek bone. “Open handed, and not even hard enough to leave a mark – but it was unacceptable.”

“I deserved it,” Lance whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his face against Phil’s hand. “I was so – I was saying shit I shouldn’t have. I don’t think I was really even talking to you anymore, Phil – I think I was yelling at… at someone else.”

Clint shuffled forward until he could lean a shoulder against Lance. “An older man that paid a lot of attention to Dusty, right? Gave him treats, took him on outings. You probably didn’t think anything of it when the man started to ask your brother for favors. Made him feel like he owed the older guy for the time and treats.” Clint kept his voice level, though it wanted to catch. “Kid probably had no idea that what was happening was wrong, did he? Maybe not until a lot later? Thought the man loved him, right, that it was normal?” Phil’s hand shifted from Lance’s shoulder to his husband’s arm. “I’m okay, Moonbeam. It was a long time ago.” Phil rubbed Clint’s bicep with his thumb before shifting back to Lance, putting a supporting hand on the tactician’s shoulder. “It looked just legitimate enough to confuse you – then, and now.”

Lance frowned at his tea. “I think… yeah, I think that’s what happened to Dusty. I don’t know all of it, still. He doesn’t… he only talks about it if he’s…”

“High,” Angie supplied, when Lance trailed off. “Oxy for ups, benzos for downs, I’d guess.” She caught the stares of some of the clan. “I ran with a bad crowd, before I split from the gene donors. I’ve seen the shit before. Your family, Lance – they don’t act like they know. About the drugs, I mean. Nobody said anything, or even… hell, your sister left him alone with the kids when he was high. Well, I mean, she tried to. I appointed myself as babysitter and let her think it was for the niblings – I was totally babysitting Dusty.”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” Lance whispered. “My parents… refuse to see it. So does Caro. Bev… her eyes are open to it. Her hubby’s a LEO – Narco, even. I think he’s tried to arrest Dusty but the kid’s slippery.”

“Addicts often are,” Phil murmured. “It makes more sense to me now, why you were so angry. I am sorry you misunderstood my care for CJ, Lance – and sorry you thought it was unique to him.” Phil moved his hand from Lance’s shoulder to his chin, urging him to make eye contact. “I care about you too, even when you’re shouting at me in my office. I wouldn’t have been so upset if I didn’t care about you.”

CJ held up a hand. “Wait.” He was still struggling, but no one approached him. “This – Lance, you yelled at Phil because you thought he was hurting me, and Phil hit you because he… cares about me? I don’t… I don’t understand. How does that… why?”

Catriona made a soft, impatient noise. “Can we simplify this, treorai, with the truth? You love. We all do,” she added, ignoring the uncomfortable shifts of position and throat clearings. “I know that many of you have difficulty with the word but – is it not the truth? We can wound each other so easily because we love.”

“I am really fucking tired of loud silences,” Chuck announced into the one that followed Catriona’s words. “So I’m gonna man up and take one for the team. The pixie’s right. I love all y’all. Hell if I know when or how it switched from being about team and became family – stopped being caring and became loving. And I know I suck at it – I ain’t had much practice. But I want to learn.”

“You’ve done pretty well tonight,” Misty said, reaching over to bump her fist against Chuck’s shoulder. “I love you all, too,” she added softly, looking around the room. “That’s why you’re all here, why I needed to tell you guys about the baby. The cricket. I need my family.”

Maria tugged Misty closer to her, smoothing the blonde hair down so that she could press her cheek into it. “I didn’t really understand it until I’d seen Phil’s family – I didn’t grow up with that. And it’s damned hard for me to use the words at all but… yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I love you all.”

“Even me?” CJ asked from the couch. His knees were drawn up to his chest and he was looking from one teammate to another with a kind of desperate hope – and an aching fear that he had misunderstood.

Natasha rose from her arm chair and crossed to the couch, sitting on the arm next to him and offering her hand. When he slid his into hers, she smiled at him and reached forward to brush his hair out of his eyes with her other hand, moving slowly so as not to startle him. “You are loved, faireoir. You are a part of this family too, as much as any of the others.”

“And we do mean all,” Phil said, making eye contact with each of his clan – even those who tried to resist. “I realize I haven’t given each of you the attention you need – ”

Raj snorted. “You would have, if I’d thought I had the right to ask.” He rose from his place nearer the couch and worked his way through the mass of bodies until he could crouch and wrap first Phil, and then Lance in a hug. “I suck at this kind of family too – because if I tried to have this kind of open conversation with the one I was born into, there’d have been loud arguments in at least two languages by now. But I agree with Chuck.” He shifted again and offered the very surprised squad second a hug of his own. “I want to learn.”

Sniffling, Angie opened her arms to the medic, who wrapped her up and squeezed her. She buried her head against him briefly before turning to the next nearest clanmate, seizing Sam around the shoulders. “I do too, I want to learn.”

Misty smiled beatifically and let out a long, satisfied sigh – punctuated by a giggle at the end. “We’d better call in the experts, then. Sensei… you think Mama Diane and the flower girls make house calls?”

~ * ~


	10. Chapter 10

They’d crossed from Friday night into Saturday morning before anyone was ready to disband the impromptu storytime-cuddle-session. Misty had fallen asleep three times by then, each time jerking awake at a movement near her and apologizing profusely.

“Grasshopper,” Phil said finally at about two o’clock in the morning. “You need to go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m okay, Sensei,” Misty protested, yawning. “I can just doze here. It’s okay.”

Phil stood and tugged her up to her feet with Maria’s assistance. “You need sleep, and you aren’t getting it,” he said softly. “It’s alright. No one’s upset by that. Let Maria take you home and put you to bed.” He stroked her hair softly, smiling over her shoulder at the frankly relieved look on Maria’s face. “Somebody else needs you to be home safe, too.”

Misty twisted to see the look on Maria’s face and nodded. “Okay.” She yawned one more time then opened her arms for a hug. “I want one from everybody. Squad leader order.”

“Orders are a lot more effective when you don’t look like a cranky toddler,” Lance said lightly, standing to take his turn. Maria got one too. “We’ll see you Monday, then? Unless there’s more shit going on this weekend?” His tone said he really hoped there wasn’t.

“Monday,” Misty agreed around another yawn. “I’ll put in the paperwork to shadow AC as his twic officially.” She shifted her hug to the next Scooby.

“Buff, you need sleep,” Chuck told her gruffly, tugging at the end of her hair. “Now more than ever. We’ll deal with that on Monday.” He hugged Maria. “I know you’re gonna anyway, but it makes me feel better to tell you to take care of her for us.”

Maria smiled. “I was planning on it, but it’s good to hear somebody else is worrying about her.”

The assembly-line-of-hugs had reached Sam, and Misty hesitated. She hadn’t forgotten the brunette’s callous words, but she also wasn’t about to leave without her hug. So the blonde straightened her shoulders and opened her arms to their hand-to-hand expert. “Gimmee,” she ordered.

With something between a laugh and a sob, Sam hugged her tight. Misty pretended she couldn’t feel the tension in the other woman’s body – she’d let it go. For now. Maria obviously felt it too, raising an eyebrow at Misty over Sam’s shoulder when it was her turn for an embrace.

The last hug before they left was CJ, who rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t – I can’t.”

“That’s okay.” Misty lifted her hand with just her index finger raised. “How about a mini-hug?” At his complete lack of understanding, she smiled and gestured. “Come on, finger up, little brother. Give me a ‘you’re number one!’” He complied, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion – until she reached forward with hers and touched just the pad of her fingertip to his. “Mini-hug,” she declared when their fingerprints touched. “All the good emotions. None of the claustrophobia.”

“I love you,” CJ blurted, and it made Misty grin.

“I know you do. I love you too.” She tapped her finger against his again, because otherwise she’d ruin the moment by throwing her arms around him. “Goodnight, everybody.” She waved as she and Maria filed out – after Maria had tapped CJ’s finger herself.

When the door closed behind them, the rest of the clan was still standing in the living room, some of them looking unsure. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” Phil assured them all.

“Don’t you guys need to… like…” CJ pointed upstairs.

Phil smiled. “One of the best things about being married is knowing they aren’t going anywhere. I can wait. Taking care of the fledglings is satisfying in different ways.” Slowly enough that CJ could pull away, he reached up and ruffled the sharpshooter’s hair. “How is everyone else doing?”

Angie shrugged one shoulder. “I’m a night owl. This is primetime, for me.” She looked over at Lance, who was as wide awake as she was. “We might be the only ones running on all eight cylinders at this point though, Lancelot. You wanna split to my place and watch a crappy science fiction flick and make fun of it? I think the rest of them are winding down, and I’m… not.” She also didn’t want to be alone – and didn’t think Lance should be, either.

“This is not a date,” Lance said firmly. “But yeah. Yeah, that sounds really good.”

“I know it isn’t a date.” Angie rolled her eyes and started her own goodbye hugs. “I’m not your type, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t mine. Still working that one out. But you’re firmly in big brother territory, nothing more.”

Lance rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, tugging him along behind him as they left. “I’m only five years older than you,” he complained. The rest of the argument was lost behind the closed door.

“And then there were nine,” Raj said, yawning. “And going to be fewer… because while I kept these hours in med school, I definitely do not keep them any longer.” He smiled. “Drama aside… I enjoyed myself tonight. At the risk of sounding like a very bad movie, I feel… closer to you all.”

“As do I,” Al said, deciding to leave at the same time. He and Raj made the hug-circuit in tandem. The linguist paused in front of Phil. “What you have built here, with us – it is a treasure of unmatched value. I hope that you know that.”

Phil tugged the swarthy man into his arms for a solid but brief hug, feeling the reluctance. “I know that. I’m happy you’re a part of it, Al.”

Chuck regarded Catriona carefully as the much-reduced group sat back down. Sam looked like she was on the verge of bolting and CJ looked undecided… Catriona just looked tired. “You do enough voodoo to need a spotter tonight, Catriona?”

The druid looked up at him in surprise. “I do not know what you mean, cumainn.”

“A sleep spotter – someone to guard against nightmares. Not really that weird among soldiers, and definitely not weird among this family. If you’re going to have a rough night, you can bunk with me.” Chuck grinned. “I can protect you from the boogie man.”

Catriona stretched, seriously considering his offer. “It is not the ‘boogie man’ which haunts me,” she admitted. “It is the Roman legions, and… if I fall into one such dream they are… disturbing. To others, as well as myself. I have struck out, on occasion.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought you might,” Chuck agreed. “Pretty common reaction.” Sam and CJ were looking at him oddly. “I was a Marine before I joined SHIELD, remember? Wouldn’t be the first time I’d bunked with somebody with PTSD.”

The druid frowned. “It is not precisely the same thing. To the best of my knowledge, other sufferers of that syndrome do not require physical contact to prevent a nightmare.”

Chuck shrugged. “Walks like a duck, quacks like a duck – I’m gonna treat it like a duck. At least, until somebody gives me the manual for whatever fowl it winds up being.” He smiled a little. “It’s like most things in life, different people need different things, have different triggers. If physical contact works for you, I can roll with that.” His gaze shifted to CJ. “And if you don’t want to go home to an empty apartment and don’t want to be an imposition on the triad, I’ve got an extra bedroll or two. You could make a hide in a corner or the closet or whatever and be near without having to touch anybody.”

“You aren’t an imposition—” Phil began.

“I know, Chief,” CJ interrupted. “I know you’d let me stay, but… yeah, Chuckles. That sounds… that sounds really good.”

“Good.” Chuck rose and stretched. “What about you, Sam?”

“I…” she began, having no idea what words to follow up with. “Um.”

Catriona and CJ had risen when Chuck did, and now the petite redhead touched Sam’s forearm gently. “It is not a challenge or exam, dainsearach damhsoir. There is no wrong answer.”

“I think I need to go home,” Sam decided. “I need…”

“Time,” Natasha supplied. She pinned the Scooby – her own protege, as Misty was Phil’s and CJ was Clint’s – with a penetrating stare. Sam felt the weight of it, hunching her shoulders. Natasha knew there was unfinished business here – something that shouldn’t be allowed to fester… but she also recognized that she would get no further with Sam tonight. That was fine. She would suss out the rest of the problem, certainly – but she could wait. “You’ll call or text one of us if you need someone… won’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sam answered it anyway. “Yes, ma’am.”

Natasha’s eyes sharpened at the honorific – until she caught CJ’s eyes. As Angie had gone with Lance at Christmas, CJ had gone with Sam – and he’d described the Adams family as overly formal. (And, Natasha amused herself by thinking, a lot less functional and well-adjusted than the fictional Addams Family.) So this ‘ma’am’ from Sam, she decided, was more of an automatic response to a parental figure than to a professional superior.

When the last of the Scoobies had left, Phil surveyed the mess in the living room, kitchen, and dining room with a rueful smile before deciding it could damned well wait until tomorrow. “Let’s just go to bed,” Phil said on the end of a sigh, gathering his spouses to him.

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “You okay, Moonbeam?” It was very rare for Phil to turn in before the house was set to rights, no matter the hour.

Phil felt a blush rising. “Yeah. But Mom had another piece of advice earlier, and I think it outweighs stowing camp mattresses.”

“She did, did she?” Natasha asked coyly, running a hand up Phil’s back.

“I can guess what she said,” Clint said, his eyes sparkling. “There aren’t a lot of topics that turn you bashful.”

“Sorry.”

Clint chuckled. “Don’t apologize for it… I think it’s sexy as hell.” He leaned forward and caught Phil’s lips with his own. “Meet you upstairs?”

“Mmmhmmmm…” Phil murmured, but Clint could tell he hadn’t heard a word.

“Go on, I’ll be right up.” He shook his head fondly at his husband.

While Phil and Natasha went up to change into pajamas – or to leave them off, as Clint kind of hoped they would – he detoured to the kitchen. He made sure all the leftovers were securely stowed in the fridge, because he knew it would bug Phil like crazy if food was left out overnight and had to be thrown away. Misty and Maria had done a good job – he didn’t find anything to correct in the stack of Tupperware he found in the fridge. Satisfied, he snagged three bottles of beer and then crept over to where he’d stowed his things when he’d come in. Tucking the beer under his arm, he rescued a box from the side table in the entry way before taking the stairs to their bedroom two at a time.

It was swift work to strip out of his clothes and pass the beer to his husband and wife. Phil eyed his burden curiously. “Presents, pretty bird?”

Feeling a little self-consciousness that had nothing to do with his nudity, Clint settled onto the bed next to Phil and opened the box. Inside were a half dozen powered sugar donuts. “Since you missed yours this morning,” Clint said quietly.

“Great Good Goddess, I love you,” Phil said around a tight throat. He took the box from Clint and set it on the bedside table before tugging the archer into his arms and pressing his forehead into the broad, muscled shoulder.

Natasha rolled onto her knees, wrapping her arms around her husbands and cradling them close. “I love you both.”

“Both,” Clint agreed.

~ * ~

Monday morning found Natasha standing comfortably at parade rest in front of Director Fury’s desk. To her right, Phil stood in a similar pose. To her left and slightly behind stood CJ and Angie, both trying to look as relaxed as their clanchiefs. “I appreciate you reevaluating the mission parameters, sir.”

Fury’s expression twisted, lemon-puckered for a split-second. “You didn’t leave me with a whole lot of options, Agent Romanoff.” 

“No, sir.” And Natasha managed – somehow – to keep from sounding smug or insubordinate. Phil approved – and wished he had a way to signal that to his wife that wouldn’t be noticed by the director. Afterwards, he vowed.

“Agent Romanoff, you are being placed undercover as Tatiana Shishmaref, an escort working for the Siniy Svet Agency. You will have Agents Forrester and Edwards as overwatch and operational support respectively.” Fury tapped a closed mission brief, his eyes never leaving Natasha’s face. “You are to get close to General Solohob, find out who’s supplying his weapons and where they’re going.” He paused, his fingers shifting from tapping the mission brief to an odd stroking that did nothing to put them at ease. “By any means necessary, Agent Romanoff.”

“Within the strictures of SHIELD guidelines, of course,” Phil added with perfect blandness.

“Of course,” Fury agreed.

CJ doubted he was the only one that saw the clenched jaw. “When do we leave, sir?”

Fury shifted his gaze to the sharpshooter. CJ braced himself against the laser-like focus. “You have forty-eight hours, and then I want you on a plane.” He flicked his eye towards the hacker, pleased to see her tremble slightly under it. “Dismissed.”

The four of them filed out of the director’s office. Once clear, Natasha began rattling off instructions to Angie and CJ. By the time they’d reached the administrative level, she’d laid out a plan for their remaining time stateside. Angie immediately complied, departing for the quartermaster with a jaunty wave.

“Can I have a word, Agent Forrester?” Phil asked, gesturing at his office. He flashed Natasha a hand signal for ‘private, normal’ to reassure her before ushering the sharpshooter into his office and closing the door.

“What’s up, chief?” CJ asked when they were alone.

Phil took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his desk chair before sitting down on the couch, patting the space next to him. CJ sat down sideways, folding his legs up under himself, watching his mentor. It took Phil a moment to speak. “This mission… sending Natasha out there.” Phil clasped his hands in his lap, rubbing his wedding band with his thumb. “I know that it’s necessary, and that she’s trained to do it. But…” CJ waited, with all the patience he’d have used on a stakeout. “Will you watch over my wife for me, faireoir?”

Slowly, CJ settled his hand on Phil’s knee. His chief responded by covering CJ’s hand with his own. “I’ll take care of her,” CJ promised softly. “Not just for you. For Clint, and for the rest of the clan. She’s our matriarch, boss. We need her almost as much as you do.” A smile flickered at the corner of his lips. “Besides… I have to make sure she’s around for someday, don’t I? I was promised babysitting rights. I might not even have to fight Misty for them, not with the cricket incoming.”

Phil laughed a little, careful not to let it turn into a sob. “Watch out for Angie too? She’s… she hasn’t been in the field much.”

“I will.” There was no sense in arguing that Angie didn’t need coddling – CJ felt the same protectiveness. Angie was only six years older than he – three, on paper – and had very little combat experience. For all that he was young, CJ considered his years in captivity and prerecruitment as a kind of combat – as did Phil. “Promise me you’ll take care of Buffy and the cricket too?”

“It’s a deal.” Phil’s smile was a little strained, but it was there. “And the rest of the clan for good measure.” He breathed deeply, rubbing CJ’s hand with his thumb. “I…”

CJ smiled, the sweet private one that Phil adored so much. “I know, chief.” He twisted his hand so that he could clasp Phil’s fingers briefly before tugging his hand away and rising. “I know.”

~ * ~


	11. Chapter 11

The house was too quiet without Natasha in it, Phil decided. It wasn’t as though their wife was particularly noisy – but somehow, her absence was deafening. It didn’t help that she was far enough away to strain the Goddess-bond between herself and Clint – they were limited to Gaia-boosted telepathy during meditation, and Natasha had limited availability. Her mission was running silent with SHIELD as well, instructed to only contact HQ once per day… and not for personal reassurances.

The plane carrying Natasha, Angie, and CJ had left headquarters Wednesday morning. Phil had seen them off – as their handler of record, he had that prerogative. Clint did not, and he’d sulked about it from Phil’s couch… where he’d been joined by six sulking Scoobies and Maria as well. None of them relished the separation, though they recognized that it was a good career move for Angie and CJ.

After the plane had left, and Phil had extracted most everyone from his office, he turned to find that Misty was still sitting on his couch, her hands folded in her lap. “Something wrong, grasshopper?” Phil asked after he’d closed the door.

“Not with me.” She smiled a little and patted the cushion next to her. Curious, Phil sat down beside her. “You aren’t quite alright yet, are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Misty’s lips quirked. “Yes, you do.” She glanced at the door to make sure it was closed before leaning into his shoulder. “You’re off balance from fighting with nascha and cuz, and stressing about the mission, and your usual fuss-target is gone.” Phil opened his mouth to deny it, but Misty just shook her head. “Don’t argue with me.” She squirmed until she could slide under his arm. “Fuss over me instead. CJ won’t mind.”

Phil curled his arm around Misty’s shoulders. “You hate it when I fuss over you.”

“You need it,” she said simply. “And I don’t mind it… not right now.” Misty covered her abdomen with one hand. “The cricket and I can use a little extra care.”

“You’ll get it,” Phil said, his voice tight. “Did you call Mom?”

“Ducks and I called her Saturday,” Misty confirmed, a smile blooming. “She cried. And then she asked if she was going to get to be Grandma Diane to the cricket, and that made me cry, too.”

Phil found himself smiling too, relaxing into the couch and tugging Misty closer. “Is she? Going to be Grandma to the cricket, I mean?”

“As long as that’s okay with you…?”

“Very okay.” Phil turned to press a kiss to Misty’s temple. 

They sat together for half an hour before Misty reluctantly stood. “I’ve got a shift in the MedBay,” she said, stretching. “And yes – I’ll be careful.”

Phil stood when she did, smiling a little. “I know you will.” He indulged in one last paternal hug before sending her on her way.

She was the first Scooby to present herself in his office for stand-in-fussing, but she wasn’t the last. Chuck came by Thursday morning with a latte, and stayed to ask Phil’s opinion on the tactical plan he was working on. Raj inexplicably needed a test subject for a tension headache remedy he was working on – and knew just exactly which senior agent might be harboring such a headache. They weren’t just taking care of him, though – Phil was amused (and touched) to realize they were also fussing over Clint.

The archer had been surprised to receive a cup of coffee from Chuck in the same delivery as Phil’s latte – surprised, but pleased. Gifts of caffeine and sugar were always welcome. The request for him to attend a sparring session with Sam and Al had been less usual, but also welcome. He’d spent almost two hours helping the linguist master a particular evasive maneuver.

Friday morning, Phil strolled into the cafeteria at five minutes past nine o’clock, and almost laughed out loud. One corner of the room was occupied with six Scoobies, his husband, and Maria. On the table in front of them were two powdered sugar donuts.

“Thank you,” Phil said as he sat down between Clint and Maria. “But I was planning on buying them myself.”

“Last week you didn’t,” Chuck pointed out. “And the world nearly came to an end. We’re just covering our bases.”

“Besides, you’ve got that meeting with Fury at nine-thirty,” Maria pointed out, sipping a cup of coffee. “You’ll need the sugar.”

Phil made a face. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever the Director had to say. Hopefully a solid buffer of powdered sugar and caffeine would be as effective for him as it ever was for his husband.

Unfortunately, that did not prove to be the case.

Fury’s eye was glittering again. Phil didn’t know what caused it, but it was beginning to unnerve him. “You and Agent Barton are being reassigned to the research facility in the Mojave,” Fury said, tossing a folder across his desk to Phil. “You are to manage the project personnel. Barton is to monitor Doctor Selvig.”

“Yes, sir,” Phil said automatically. He didn’t trust himself to speak and instead picked up the folder, flipping through it slowly. “Two junior agents of my choosing?”

“Saves me having to argue with you about it,” Fury said drily. “Who do you want?”

Phil debated. It was tempting to take Misty with him – partly because this was the kind of mission he’d like her to be trained in, and partly because babysitting a research project was likely about as safe as SHIELD missions got. But Maria wouldn’t be going with them – and it would be cruel to take Misty away from Maria now. His second choice would have been CJ, but the sharpshooter was in Russia watching over Natasha. “Do I need to decide this moment, or can I discuss it with Agent Barton?”

Fury’s jaw clenched but relaxed almost immediately. “Let me know by the end of the day. I want you on a plane first thing Monday morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil closed the folder and made his way to his office, deep in thought. This was completely out of Raj’s specialty, which crossed him off the list of potentials. He didn’t think it fit in Al’s wheelhouse, either. That left Chuck, Lance, and Sam. 

He messaged Clint for his husband to join him for lunch and occupied himself reading the mission brief more thoroughly. Selvig was apparently one of a number of scientists studying the tesseract – that blue cube of energy that Stark had found while looking for Captain America. That blue cube that had, apparently, been sought after and used by the Nazis and whose provenance was remarkably fuzzy from the time Howard Stark fished it out until now. Phil was used to seeing suspicious redactions in files… this one was more notable for what wasn’t said than what was. And the cube… something about it set off warning lights in the back of Phil’s mind. That blue was familiar, and the coruscating light in the video clip he watched was… unsettling.

“You rang, boss?” Clint said as he walked in the office for lunch, carrying two trays from the cafeteria.

Phil smiled – and it was completely a Phil smile, and not the Agent Coulson expression he should be wearing during the workday. Still, no one saw him through the open door – he hoped – and Clint pulled it shut behind him. “New mission from Fury,” Phil explained, shrugging out of his suit coat and moving to sit on the couch. “We’re headed to the Mojave Desert, and the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility.”

Clint handed Phil both trays so that he could settle himself comfortably, his eyebrows winging up at the news. “This tied to Thor, you reckon?”

“I don’t think so.” Phil passed Clint his tray and set about eating his own lunch – roast beef sandwich, potato salad, and a raspberry tart. “At least, not directly. Although I’ll admit, I’m tired of that damned desert.”

“At least you’re unlikely to get shot at by a bigass doomsday robot this time,” Clint said.

“Bite your tongue and knock on wood,” Phil sighed. He passed Clint the mission brief. “I’m supposed to pick two junior agents. I think I’ve narrowed it down to Chuck, Lance, or Sam. I’d appreciate your thoughts.”

Clint read the brief as he ate. One he’d finished his food, his hand strayed to Phil’s thigh – not to arouse, just settling there and rubbing circles with his thumb. “Well. Lance would probably be the most useful to you – since we can’t take Misty.”

“I thought about it,” Phil admitted, leaning back against the couch. He debated getting up and throwing the deadbolt, because he really wanted to put his arm around Clint and didn’t dare, not with the door unlocked. “I would feel better if she was where I could see her… but…”

“But she can hardly make it through a day without needing Maria,” Clint supplied. “I know. But Ria will take care of her for us.” His stroking of Phil’s thigh switched to a supportive squeeze. “I’d rather have Chuck than Sam, if I’m being honest. Sam… her and I don’t click.”

Phil’s forehead creased. “That bad? I thought you worked fine with her.”

“I do… for the most part.” Clint shrugged a little. “She wouldn’t be my choice for a long-term mission anyway – even without the personal stuff. She’s got a hot temper. Chuck is a better choice for security anyway – he’s less deadly than Sam, but he looks scarier.”

“He’d do well undercover as a bouncer,” Phil agreed. “And him being less deadly might be a benefit… I can’t see us needing lethal force for this.”

Clint leaned over to press a kiss to Phil’s lips. “From your lips to Gaia’s ears.” He squeezed Phil’s thigh once more before rising. “Will you inform the kids, or do I need to?” He gathered up the discarded lunch trays to return them to the cafeteria.

“I will.” Phil stood as well, intending to head to his desk and his professional persona but – “Fuck it.” He seized Clint’s elbow and hauled his husband in close for a long, heated kiss that ended with him nibbling on Clint’s lower lip as the archer’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Not fair.” Clint leaned his head forward until their foreheads were pressing together. “Why is it so hot when you lose control at work? Goddess, I want to just – ”

“I know. I do too.” Phil stroked Clint’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Later. Go back to work, before somebody comes knocking at the door. I’ll see you at home.”

Clint nodded. Reluctantly, he pulled away. “I love you,” he murmured before he opened the door. 

Phil was amused to see he’d timed it so that Phil had to respond in an official capacity. “I find I agree with that assessment, Agent Barton.” Phil’s eyes sparkled. “Do not become accustomed to me agreeing with you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it… sir.” Clint winked mischievously before strolling away, cafeteria trays balanced jauntily on top of his head, and whistling Sousa’s ‘The Thunderer’ as he went.

~ * ~

_Mistress,  
I have been integrated into the target group for more than a year but have not been able to carry out my mission. They are more resilient than anticipated. Circumstances which would fragment other groups seem instead to crystallize this one. I do not believe that it is possible to foment discord among them without external pressures beyond my control. I apologize for my failure thus far. I do not know how much longer I can continue to serve in this capacity – they are observant and have knowledge beyond the norm. If I am discovered, I am not certain how to proceed. I await your orders._

_Your Obedient Servant_

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for this fic, but fear not! The first chapter of the next one will be going up very shortly. Thanks for joining me on this ride and buckle up for 'Assembly Line'!


End file.
